The Future of Escaflowne
by Valoria
Summary: It's my continutation of the series. Dilanda is a 15 year old girl who knows nothing of her past, until she realizes why she's kidnapped...
1. Default Chapter

**Discovery**

Discovery

One chilly morning in early spring I sat on the carcass of a fallen forest giant eating a forgettable breakfast and staring absentmindedly at the run-down, isolated hovel that had been my home for fourteen years and three hundred sixty four days. It was my fifteenth birthday and, I had long been promised, the day I would discover the truth about myself.

               I was quite preoccupied that morning, and understandably so. Still, I will never quite forgive myself for noticing nothing until my arms were pinned behind me and my mouth covered by unseen hands. A scrap of linen seeped in an unidentifiable sleep-inducing chemical was forced under my nose, and I knew no more.

***

               When I came to I found myself in a large, dingy room I'd never seen in my life. For all its size, it was crowded. All of the room's occupants seemed about my age. There were both boys and girls. Judging by looks and by the many dialects I heard, they were from every corner of Gaea. 

               I was dizzy, nauseous, shaky, and my head ached like hell. I allowed a tiny moan to escape me. Even I could barely hear it amid all the noise, but across the room a tall girl leapt to her feet. As she strode toward me I saw that she was a "cat person." I had heard that there had once been many but a plague ordinary humans were immune to had nearly wiped them out and that they were now nearly extinct.

               "Awake, are you? Take it easy for a bit. That's nasty stuff, and you were given quite the dose. Once you feel a bit better I'll show you around. Don't worry. Nothing's happened yet."

               This seemed overly optimistic to me, as we were obviously prisoners, but it was clear that the girl was a generally cheerful person. She spoke quickly, and barely gave me time to think on this before she plowed on again.

               "I'm Dyln. Close enough, I suppose, and what with my looks and possible birthday they've got reasons to go after me. Who're you?"

               "Dilanda," I answered, and would have asked what the hell she was talking about had she not started jabbering again.

               "Almost a direct duplicate, and you look awfully like! What day were you born?"

               Wondering what this had to do with anything, I answered, "The second day of the red moon. I'm fifteen today."

               "You've been out a good four days, dearie," Dyln replied, but she sounded less perky and more thoughtful. "Who was your father?"

               I was thoroughly annoyed at this point. "I haven't the foggiest, and if you have a point, make it!"

               "Where have you been living? Don't you know why we're all here?" I was about to lose my temper when I realized this was an expression of disbelief at my ignorance and not another of her seemingly inane questions.

               "I don't have a clue," I admitted, feeling my exasperation ebb away. I was used to being assumed to be "in the know" and finding myself completely perplexed when I went to the nearest village for supplies. It was one of the more unpleasant side effects of living twenty-four seven with only your dog and mother for company, and Dyln certainly wasn't to blame. 

               "Oh, dear. It's difficult to explain. Have you at least heard of Lord Dilandau?" she asked kindly.

               "Who hasn't?" Even _I couldn't have escaped this knowledge. Every man, woman, and child in Gaea had heard of the "Crazed Commander," as the poor man was now known. During the great wars the psychotic Lord Dilandau had dedicated himself to the destruction of Lord Van, the famous pilot of Escaflowne. He wreaked death and havoc indiscriminately while chasing this goal, and had gained immortal infamy. This much was like any other war story, and didn't interest me much. What I found disturbing was that he had later stumbled onto the discovery of his true identity. Before horrific sorcery, genetic experiments, and, one assumed, a thorough brainwashing, he had been the younger__ sister of a famous knight named Allen, who fought for the other side._

               "How about Hitomee?" Dyln asked.

               "Wasn't she a friend of Lord Van's?" I was less sure about this. My mother had mentioned the girl more than once, but she didn't seem particularly interesting to either of us.

               "A _powerfully psychic friend of Lord Van's, who is now his wife," Dyln corrected. "After the war ended and everybody went off to live happily ever after, her gift up and vanished on her. Heaven knows why. Before she lost her second sight completely, she made a prophesy. I think she said it felt realer than anything she'd ever come up with before, but instead of a vision, as her predictions usually were, it was in words. I think it went like this, but let me live if I'm wrong._

When the second day of the red moon falls 

_Gaea answers oblivion's call. _

When peace has reigned for fifteen years 

_Gaea's heart sheds only tears._

_When Dilandau's heir takes up the sword_

_Gaea then shall be no more."_

               "So they're rounding up anyone who might fit the prophesy!" I said triumphantly, relieved to know my situation.

               "Right," Dyln answered. "Someone decided that his heir was his child, and they were probably right. They're looking for anyone with a similar name, though I don't know why that would necessarily be. They want anyone who looks a bit like him; you'll notice that most of us have the same color hair, like me, the same eyes, or whatever. You're a mirror image, by the way. One assumes that they'd be at least fifteen. Somebody thought to look out for anyone without a father. Most important is the day, though. Practically everyone in Gaea who was born the same day you were, or, for those of us who aren't quite sure of birthdays, somewhere around there, is here."

               "I didn't know Dilandau had a child," I said, trying to remember having heard anything along those lines.

               "Well, there was nothing stopping him," Dyln pointed out. "If it was me, I wouldn't tell anyone. He was a little maniacal, but not stupid. I'm sure he must have realized that, whether it was because of the scandal or the implications that he had a soft side, having his fatherhood widely known might well jeopardize the respect of the troops he had to command. The bottom line is, he'd have kept quiet and there's no way anyone could know which Gaean out of millions is his."  

"So it could be me," I said haltingly, trying to picture myself as the destroyer of Gaea.

               "It could be a lot of people, so don't bust a brain cell. You aren't the only one here who falls under all four headings. I'm going to pop outside. When the meal is served I'll grab you a bit. Rest while you can."

               "You can get out?" I asked, surprised.

               "Sure, I'll show you how when you're stronger," Dyln replied. "There's a little hole in the wall a skinnyish teenager can just fit through. It only leads out into a little courtyard, or I'd be long gone. It's nice to get a little fresh air, is all." She strolled off.

               I was wondering if I really did look so much like Dilandau, and pulled a mirror out of my pocket. I kept the thing not for cosmetic purposes, but because I got bored a lot at home. When you're really desperate, you can be easily amused by something as simple and pathetic as making a reflected beam of light move around.

               I summoned up a memory of a picture my mother had (it had never occurred to me to ask _why she owned the thing) of Lord Dilandau and then examined my own face. Our eyes were the same shape and color, and held almost the same expression. His thin, devilish smirk was identical to the one I often wore myself. Though my hair was straight, like my mother's, and much longer, it was exactly the same silvery-blond. We shared a ridiculously light build though I was extremely short. It was certainly a striking resemblance, but I was perfectly ready to dismiss it as coincidence. If I'd really been the daughter of a notoriously deranged pyromaniac, it stood to reason, I'd hardly be a pensive and generally docile individual._

               Telling myself that I was satisfied with this admittedly weak and desperate explanation, I was ready to take Dyln's advice and use the time to rest. I managed to grab myself a corner and curled up. When I closed my eyes, however, I couldn't banish the picture of Dilandau from my mind. It was beginning to go from a menace to an annoyance as a result of familiarity when I remembered.

               I must have been little more than a newborn. The male version of my own face looked down at me. He was sobbing silently and rocked back and forth as he spoke. "My Dilanda. My poor, sweet little one. My only consolation is that you may never know your father's shame." His voice rang clearly in my ears and I could almost feel his strong arms pressing me to his chest. 

               My eyes shot open. So I was Dilandau's daughter and heir, as well as the reason so many were imprisoned. If Hitomee was right, I would be the destruction of Gaea. Looking back, I'm glad I was unarmed, because in that one horrible moment of revelation I'm sure I would have suicided.

               Finally I settled down. When I thought about it, the memory had raised more questions than it had answered. Specifically, how could I remember something from when I was only weeks old, and what exactly had been going on? The second question was considerably more interesting. It was possible that Dilandau was only responding to unexpected fatherhood, but I had a feeling that this wasn't it. It seemed most likely that something had happened during the war. Recalling the utter despair in his voice, his horribly pained expression, and, worst of all, his tears, I decided that he was fighting some terrible inner battle.

               Again, my answer only resulted in more questions. What the hell had happened to reduce Dilandau who, in my memory, seemed somehow noble, composed, and kind even through his despair, to the "Crazed Commander" everyone spoke of in hushed voices even now? 

               I dozed off as I thought on this.  The next thing I remember is Dyln shaking me roughly awake. "Dilanda! Wake up and eat!"

               I sat up and accepted the slice of bread she handed me. My mind was clearer, and I asked her about something that had occurred to me as I slept. "How come you fall under suspicion if you're a cat?"

               She laughed. "You're really unenlightened, aren't you? If a 'cat person,' as we're usually called, crossbreeds with a normal human, you can't tell that the child is half-breed. They look either completely human or like any other cat person. I don't remember either of my parents, but I almost definitely have some human in me or I'd have died with everyone else during the plague. My birthday is somewhere around the second, and I look a very little like his lordship, so I fall under suspicion. Possibly even more so because of who I am. Dilandau's side employed some cat girls he would have known quite well. They're supposed to have had the hots for Lord Fulkan, one of Dilandau's superiors, but you never know."

               "Makes sense, though you make it sound like breeding prize dogs," I said. As I licked a few stray crumbs from my fingers and examined her. While Dyln's hair was certainly the right color, she didn't really look the slightest bit like Lord Dilandau. Her deep green eyes were quiet and her smile open. She was lean, sinuous, and muscular as opposed to twiggy. She was also a stunning, curvaceous beauty, which my plain, skinny little self and I tried to ignore.

               Dyln chattered on and I gave her enough of my attention to make vaguely plausible answers when required, but my mind was elsewhere. What, precisely, would happen when my paternal ancestry was discovered? I was a phenomenally bad liar, but even if my frail falsehoods convinced anyone the simplest of DNA tests would prove that I was Dilandau's heir.  Besides, they probably wouldn't be needed. If in the unlikely chance that my appearance left any doubt, it would be destroyed by an arousal of my temper. I was a basically gentle, quiet creature, but if I got mad enough I could put anyone who'd seen him on the battlefield in mind of Lord Dilandau.

               Later, Dyln put my worries temporarily to rest by telling me that nothing had happened to any of the prisoners yet. Still, thoughts of execution by decapitation haunted my thoughts and, after Dyln's blathering lulled me to sleep, my dreams.    


	2. escape

**2**

**Escape**

               The next morning (at least I assume it was morning; there weren't any windows in the room and I didn't know when I'd fallen asleep) Dyln shook me awake. "Keep you head down and don't make any noise," she hissed. "They're taking us out for questioning and the way you look you'll be chosen first!"

               "Space lemons!" I hissed under my breath. When a normal person would say "darn" or something, I say "space lemons." God knows.

               I knew she was right and didn't ask any questions. I ducked behind her and tried to breathe lightly. In minutes whatever officials had chosen the unfortunate first were gone, and I leaned against the wall and sighed in relief.

               "Lucky you're so tall," I commented. "What d'ya think'll happen to whoever got picked?"

               "They'll be asked dumb questions, if it's even the slightest bit likely that they're Lord Dilandau's heir they'll do a DNA check, it'll be proved that they aren't, and they'll be told to get their ass back home."

               I doubted that it was that simple. "Do you think it's you?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.

               "I don't think it's anyone," Dyln answered with obviously false cheer. "If Dilandau's heir is real, and I'm not sure I believe in that prophesy thingy anyhow, then they'll be pretty well hidden and wouldn't have been easy to round up."

               "Bad bluff," I said scornfully. "You're worried and you believe it."

               "Is it that obvious?" she asked with a nervous laugh. "I tend to be a good liar."

               "Well, it was you that told me about everything in the first place," I pointed out. 

               "Good point," she acknowledged. "Alright, I'm worried. Not really for me, but for whoever it turns out to be. They'll either be executed or imprisoned for life. I've spoken with just about everyone here and not one seems like they'd destroy Gaea. If you know your destiny, at least it seems to me, you can always decide not to follow it. The future is in the making, as someone used to say to me."

               "Hitomi wouldn't agree," I said.

               "Bully for Hitomi," she snapped. "I don't care. There's no destroyer in this room, Dilandau's heir or not."

               That was comforting. At least someone believed that I wasn't automatically a psychopathic annihilator. "Can I trust you, Dyln?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought, and once I'd said them I wasn't sure whether to be regretful or relieved.

               She looked surprised. "I'm not sure. Nobody's asked me that before. I think so. Yes. You can."

               That was license enough. "It's me," I whispered.

               Dyln blinked bewilderedly. "Say again."

               "It's me. I'm Dilandau's heir."

               "Ommigod," she gasped, then got a hold of herself. "Well, I guess it ain't that surprising. Like I said, mirror image. Well, we are in trouble."

I gaped at her. "We?"

               Dyln grinned nervously. "Aw, come on. I'm on your side. One can't help one's heritage. Unfortunately, yours is very apparent. I'll try to think of a way to get us out of here. In the mean time, lay low."

               I smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Dyln. I guess you _are a friend. Gee, I never had one before."_

               The door flew open, and a tall, blond man (who was quite handsome, despite the fact that he had to be about forty) strode into the room. His entrance was sudden and startled us both. Thus, Dyln didn't mange to move in front of me and I had frozen before I got my head down.

               He scanned the room and his eyes came to rest on me. "You, girl," he said, looking oddly downhearted. "Come with me."

               I gave Dyln a desperate glance containing, she said later, a plea for help and a goodbye. Luckily for me, she responded to the former. "She's, er, a mute. If you want to get anything out of her you'll have to let me come along to, um, interpret her sign language."

               The man shrugged and let us both follow. I turned to Dyln and nodded, the most I could do to thank her. It seemed like a very long walk, and I was so freaked out I didn't notice any of the statues or flowerpots along the halls and kept tripping. More than once I had to bite my tongue to keep from either swearing or yelping. Once I did let "space lemons" slip out under my breath, and the man leading us gave me a very suspicious glance.

               After what seemed eternity we came out in a richly furnished room. The handsome blond who had led us sat next to a spectacularly beautiful blonde, making quite a picture. A short man about thirty sat on a large, ornate throne. I recognized him from another of my mother's mysterious pictures as the fabled Lord Van, so it stood to reason that the salt-and-pepper haired woman on the smaller, slightly plainer throne was Lady Hitomi.

               The pretty one cocked her head. "Two, dear?" Something about her voice told be right off that she wasn't very bright but held a high position (a princess, I later discovered), definitely a dangerous combination.

               "The short one is mute," he explained, coming up a little short himself. I got the idea that he was a man of few words. 

               "Ooooooooh," replied doll-face. "I see."

               _No you don't, dipstick, I thought. I might have just been my usual jealous prejudice towards attractive people, but I was developing a real dislike for her in record time._

               Van took out a scroll. Squinting a little (I suspected a war wound at the time, but it seems he was just going farsighted), he read with the disinterested boredom of someone going over something for the umpteenth time and starting to hate it.

               "Name," he grunted.

               I moved my hands randomly for a few seconds, and Dyln said, "Sakuyah Ree."

               "Age."

               "Sixteen."

               "Parentage?"

               "Unknown."

               I then understood Dyln's tactics. She was carefully weighing her replies so it seemed likely that I would have fallen under suspicion in the first place, but that I wasn't close enough to be suspected of being the real heir. That way, no one would get offended or feel stupid and I could leave.

               It was a good plan and would have worked well had an oily voice not suddenly appeared from behind us. "Your Majesty, need we listen to these lies? The girl's very appearance warrants a DNA test."

               I turned to see who had spoken, and a small, blah-looking, scrawny man of indeterminate age stood in the doorway. While Hitomi wore an expression of intense dislike and grudging respect, the others all acted as if God had just wandered into the room. "As you say, my Lord."

               As Lord Van was the king himself, the only person he should have addressed as such was a more powerful king. I doubted that this new arrival held that rank. Had I known more about politics, I would have see that something odd was going on then and there. As it was, I simply gave him a poisonous glare and wished he'd throw himself through a ship's engine while it was running (that's an excusable desire, right?). 

               Dyln was less subtle. "Screw plan A, Dil. Run for it!"

               I was eager to comply, though I didn't really think she should have thrown off our cover so quickly. I admit to panicking myself, though, so that would be a real case of a leaf calling grass green. I kept quiet. Besides, I have short legs and low endurance. It seemed wise to save my breath for running. 

               As could have been expected, the entire castle was alerted to us within seconds. I was very simply following Dyln, and, looking back, have no idea how we got out of there. A lot of luck and some pretty ingenious ducking and sneaking was involved, and to this day I suspect her of training at a professional thieves' guild. She hasn't admitted it yet.

               I have a better idea of what happened when we were actually outside the castle. I was surrounded by a huge city and as it was "rush hour" we melted into the traffic with relative ease. Luckily, none of the guards who were after us had gotten a particularly good look and had little hope of picking us out of a crowd. One of them passed within five feet of me and didn't notice a damn thing. 

               We lay low in a rotten, long abandoned cart until sundown and then jumped in at the end of a long line of merchants leaving for Asturia. Again, we passed close to a gaggle of soldiers, one of whom asked Dyln if she'd seen herself. I almost choked to death trying not to laugh, and my resourceful companion had to say that her half-witted little sister was asthmatic. We had had several similar encounters throughout the day and I had learned a real respect for her, or at least her imagination, by the time we passed through the city gates. 

               The area around the city was wooded, if not exactly a wilderness. As it turned out, for all her street smarts Dyln couldn't take a step without tripping over a root. It was my turn to shine. It was barely eight o'clock when I had built a fire, set up camp, and caught a handsome carp. 

This was all perfectly routine to me. Mother sent me to the nearest town for news and supplies about twice a moon, and it was a round trip of about six days.  Thus, I had done a lot of camping. My companion, on the other hand, hadn't.

Dyln was a city creature through and through. It didn't sound like her annoying whining about our less than deluxe accommodations, how hard the ground was, the temperature, the dew, my cooking, sparks from the fire, etc., etc. would ever stop, and it was getting pretty annoying. Eventually, however, her griping became sort of soothing, and I fell asleep to her eloquent views on the many reasons that mud should be abolished.


	3. companionship

**3**

**Companionship**

I was up early the next morning, and managed to scrounge up a handful of unappetizing but supposedly eatable berries and a distinctly gross-looking tuber that actually turned out to be pretty good. After breakfast (and after Dyln was done fussing about our situation) we got on our way. The day was generally uneventful, and so were the next two. The forest we were traveling through grew gradually denser, and even I was a bit frustrated at some points. 

On the fourth day, rain woke us at the unholy hour of three o'clock. We were both irritable and spent a good two hours fighting as we slogged through the mud. At about five, I cut off Dyln's forgettable comment about my less than striking feminine anatomy. "I heard something."

"Probably your brain rattling around in your skull!" she snapped.

"Oh shut up," I returned, cocking my head. "More like whimpering, I'd say. Probably human, and coming from this direction."

I headed off to the left, and Dyln followed, muttering incomprehensibly. We'd walked for a good ten minutes and I was beginning to think I was going crazy under the strain when I almost tripped over a makeshift tent (_very makeshift: it was basically a cloak draped over the remains of a long-dead bush). A tallish boy sprang out with a dagger and lunged for my neck._

"Space lemons!" The phrase also means "yikes!" or whatever the hell else I want. I jumped to the side and grabbed the collar of his decrepit shirt, using his own momentum to drop him on his ass. "What was that for?" I asked indignantly.

He looked sheepish. "Sorry, miss. I thought you were one of his."

I didn't consider that an explanation. "Why would you suspect me, who's _he, and why would you want whoever we're talking about dead?"_

"Shut up, Dil," Dyln said from behind me. "Give him time to breathe. You'll have to excuse my friend. She's a nut job." Nut job yourself, Cat Woman. 

The boy made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat. "Well, I did almost slit her throat. I'm Skye." He made a deep, elegant bow. "Whom do I have the honor of addressing?" 

This courtly, melodramatic display of manners was amusing enough to make me forget how excusably irked I was, but I did remember that I was a fugitive. I was about to feed him something about "classified information" when Dyln, who, it suddenly occurred to me, was acting sort of strange, introduced herself as Dylnia Kumachre. I happened to know she didn't know what her last name was and that Dyln, simply Dyln, was precisely what she had named herself at age four (she was now twenty).

"Um, yeah, she's Dilanda." Thank you for the flattering introduction, Dyln.

I disappeared quite thoroughly after that as the two of them jabbered on. I wasn't much of a romantic, not that I had a chance anyhow, but even I knew that sparks were flying here. It was a classic scenario. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy is impressed by girl's legs, and/or bustline. Girl appreciates handsome face and hopes for a good kisser. Yuck. My beloved mother might have had an, er, interest in the opposite sex at fifteen, thus my existence, but I had avoided that particular cruel twist of nature up to that point and far beyond.

The lovebirds managed to remember I was there before their faces became permanently stuck together, which I helped along by chucking a rock and Dyln's head. I got beat up, but at least I didn't have to watch the impending liplock. I still won't even watch kissing on TV.

Once we'd sorted everything out I lost Dyln another romantic opportunity by demanding that Skye explain what the hell he'd been talking about. 

"Has either of you noticed that there haven't been any bards or storytellers around for years?" he began.

I always answer rhetorical questions, just to be annoying. "Not really. We never get any up in the mountains." I'd have elaborated, but Dyln gave me that icy glare of hers and I shut up for fear of earning myself another black eye. Space lemons.

Skye acted as if the interruption had never occurred. "Lord Donovan's been rounding us all up. The old legends of Gaea are dangerous to his cause. I was a prisoner for a long time, and some of his men don't have particularly guarded tongues, so I've picked up quite a bit."

This time I had a real question. "Who's Lord Donovan?"

"Where do you live?" he asked in disbelief. I was getting tired of that question and its variations.

"Nowhere Land," I snapped. "Just tell me who you're talking about."

"Alrighty, then," Skye said with a shrug. "He's Lord Van's main advisor. Little scrawny guy who looks between umpty and umpty with muddy hair. Nothing against the king. He's a nice guy and, I think, a distant cousin of mine. Be that as it may, the country and most of the rest of Gaea's gone to hell since he let the bastard move in and take over just after the war. Anyhow, the backstabbing son-of-a-bitch is trying to gain total control of Gaea, though how exactly he plans to do so is a mystery to me. I gather that it will involve some serious death and destruction. Fun."

               "We ran afoul of the same gentleman," Dyln said, and hurriedly explained our situation.

               "Rough luck," he said shortly. "Can't be easy to have that hanging over your head, Dil." The second the words were out of his mouth he turned, made the sad puppy eyes at Dyln, and started gushing sympathy. Romeo and Juliet started to make me a little nauseous, so I suggested we get a move on, just to give me something to do that didn't involve turbulence of the digestive system.

               "Where to?" Skye asked.

               Dyln and I exchanged worried glances. Somehow we'd been so wrapped up in getting away that even with three days to clear our heads we hadn't thought of what to do next.

               "Well," I said thoughtfully. "We should probably go see if my mother's alright. If she's still at the house we may be able to get some more info out of the woman, and I can kill her for not telling me all this before. After that we'll figure out exactly what's in our future."

               It wasn't much of a plan, which Dyln as anything but shy about pointing out, but it was the only thing we had to go on. Somehow it was obvious that Skye would come with us, though neither of us had said anything on the subject. Of course, if I'd said anything about him _not coming, Dyln would probably have murdered me.                _

And so went another day. Dyln and Skye spent most of the night making out. I learned to roll over and ignore them so I could get a little sleep, but it wasn't easy. When I finally did drop off I kept having distinctly unpleasant dreams about things I probably shouldn't put in print. Space lemons.

The next day began predictably. The two sweethearts were pretty wrapped up in each other (Skye was telling Dyln about his escape from Lord Donovan, something about jumping guards and bribing a housemaid, blah-de-blah-de-blah), so the navigating was left to me. That's generally a bad idea. I'd get lost in an empty room with one door, and I still don't know how I made it through all of my errands for Mother.

Dyln's intuition is generally good, and eventually she noticed that I didn't have a clue where I was going. She yelled at me for a few minutes, grabbed Skye's map (which looked like illegible chicken scratch to me), and directed us all to the nearest city so we could pick up some supplies. Luckily, she actually had some cash on her, or we'd have been forging for berries for quite a while longer. 

We were all technically on the run, but as Skye was one escapee from a gaggle of prisoners and Dyln and I were memorable to the extreme, he was the one who actually went into the city to scrounge up supplies and any tidbits of information he could lay his ears on. It was lucky he did.

When Skye got back a few hours later, he was breathless and scared looking. "You two just hit the most wanted list!" he informed us when he got his breath back. "I'm down separately, but it looks like we've all three of us got his highness on our asses."

"Terrific," Dyln said, slumping against the nearest tree. "It's just a matter of time, in that case. Lord Van's got some damn good trackers at his beck and call."

An idea was forming deep in the recesses of my odd little brain. "What, precisely, was said?"

"Does it matter?" Dyln snapped. "We're sort of unmistakable."

Skye answered despite her admittedly irrefutable logic, but he didn't sound particularly hopeful. "There are posters up offering a reward for the 'Heir of Lord Dilandau' and her accomplice. You're aptly described as a 'tall, beguiling cat creature' and Dil as a 'childish-looking female replica of the Crazed Commander.' I'm on a smaller poster listed with a couple of other escaped bards as 'tallish and blue-haired.' Not the most distinctive description, but more specific than I like!"

"So I don't know what you were thinking, Dil, but they've got more than enough to go on," Dyln said with a shrug.

"Well, for one thing," I snapped. "My name is Dilanda, not Dil! I'm not a pickle! Space lemons!" This last had more to do with the fact that I'd just realized to late that I'd be named "Pickle" for the rest of my life than anything else, and Dyln had the satisfied cat smile on. Just terrific.

"I dunno, you have a sort of salty personality," Skye pointed out, interrupting my musing. I forced a laugh to make him feel better. Wow, this guy was lame! He was supposed to be a professional entertainer, too.

"Well, I mean that," I said after I figured my sham giggling had lasted long enough (about three seconds, if anyone cares). "Anyhow, what if said descriptions didn't apply to us anymore?"

"I don't follow," Dyln said with one of her shapely eyebrows raised. 

"Never mind," I said with a sigh. When someone said that in a story her companions always caught on immediately. "How much does this thing bend?" I grabbed her tail, twisting a little as punishment for her stupidity. 

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" She asked, snatching it back.

"More than you know. And your ears, too."

Looking utterly mystified, she twisted it three times around her leg, leaving the end to twitch. "It's practically prehensile. I have to _push my ears down, though." She obviously thought I'd lost my mind and, thinking back, that isn't surprising._

"Good. Be right back!" I dashed off towards the city before either of them could stop me.

***

"You've come through again, you little pickle," Dyln laughed when I finished. "And I thought you'd cracked." What'd I say. 

I'd pulled an old skirt from a garbage heap in the city. A few loose stitches fastened her tail inside, and a long tunic I'd found in the same pile covered the slight bulge on her rear. An ancient bonnet salvaged from the rotting wreckage of an abandoned dogcart with room enough to hide her ears with minimal discomfort completed the look. If she kept her overlong canine teeth out of view and didn't draw attention to her retractable fingernails, no one would suspect that she wasn't a perfectly normal human.

"Now we do me," I said cheerfully.

"And we 'do you' how?" Skye pointed out. "You can put on dragonslayer's armor, a tutu, or a clown suit, but you'll still be a childish-looking female replica of Lord Dilandau."

"Guess what the operative word is," I challenged him as I pulled out my own new wardrobe, which I'd gotten off some kind of officer's son in exchange for the cosmetic mirror, which I hope he meant as a present for his sister or girlfriend. The pants were a little big, which wasn't much of a disadvantage. The shirt was even bigger, which was actually useful. I didn't have a _lot to hide, but the drape of the cloth completely nullified what female features I did have._

Dyln looked concerned. "Do you think that'll work? You're skinny and sort of a tomboy, but that doesn't mean that you'll look especially masculine."

"I was gonna borrow Skye's cloak," I said. "That hood'll come in useful. Do you think I should cut my hair? I've had this mane for fifteen years now, and I'm sort of attached to it. That knight guy's hair was about this long."

"His name's Allen, or at least I think it is," Dyln said thoughtfully. (Oh, so he was that brother of Dilandau's, which made him my uncle. No wonder he didn't look pleased about bringing me in!) "He's noble, though. A peasant boy wouldn't have let it grow so much. It's impractical, and will probably call attention to you. That's the last thing we need."

"Oh, well," I sighed. "Let's get it over with."

Skye, who had been quiet a while, suddenly piped up. "What about me? I've been described too, and if I get caught someone might notice my traveling companions. Then what?"

I pointed to the tattered bag I'd brought everything in. "There's a hat in there. The only definite thing they said about you was hair color, so there's no picking you out if no one can see the top of your head." I turned back to Dyln. "Lots of space lemons. Let's get the hair surgery done with. Make it as long as I can pull off."

"I never thought I'd see you worry over your appearance," she said wonderingly.

"Well, it's sort of for Mother's sake," I explained. "She made sort of a fetish out of my 'lovely hair,' and it was catching. Looking back, I think it might be that it reminded me of my father more than any other feature. Why that would be, I don't know."

Dyln shrugged. "Weird. What'm I supposed to cut with?"

"I'll see what I've got." I turned to my discarded dress and dumped out the pockets. 

"Wow!" exclaimed Dyln and Skye at the same time.

That was what I would have said had I not been familiar with my own habits. I'm still a packrat, but I look perfectly tidy compared to myself then. We sifted through bits of string, worthless trinkets, an empty coin purse, the mangled remains of several shopping or to-do lists I'd forgotten about, a few shiny rocks I thought were pretty, a feather from some unidentifiable bird, a petrified piece of chocolate that had bloomed beyond recognition, a small get-the-ball-on-the-string-into-the-cone game, a broken acorn, a tiny flask of Mother's "magic wakeup potion," some scraps of the same cloth the dress was made of, a needle, a spool of heavy brown thread, a thimble, and a shark's tooth before we found a tiny dagger in a leather sheath.

"I knew I had something like this," I said triumphantly.

"You're a bizarre little pickle sometimes," Dyln declared as she finished sawing my hair off (she's not a great barber; the on the right it was just below my chin and on the left hung to my shoulders). "With all this in there, that dress should stick out about two feet in every direction." She handed back the dagger. It seemed like a useful thing to have around, so I shoved the sheath into a little notch between the leather and lining of my left boot, for easy access. 

"Mother sews these things with extra pockets because of this little quirk of mine," I explained, showing her the dress's inside, covered in little bags. "It took me a long time to collect this much. Help me shovel it back up."

"Why? And where do you plan to put this?" Dyln asked with a laugh.

"It can come in pretty useful," I said with a shrug. "As I just demonstrated. Skye, can I use your bag?"

"Okay, but if any of that crap hurts the harp I'll nail your hide to a tree," he said, trying to twist his good-natured face into a scowl. It didn't work, and we all chuckled at the result.

Dyln refused to help me recover all my treasures on the grounds that she didn't want to know what horrors lived in there, meaning my pockets. I flung the acorn at her.

While I scooped handfuls of miscellaneous thingies into Skye's bag, my beloved companions leaned over my shoulder and did dry commentary. We'd been going for a few minutes and I was about to kill them both just to stop the flow of stale wit when Dyln found the necklace.

"As for that scary thing, I don't even know what- Hey! What's this?" Her hand dared into a mass of steel rings and wooden beads and she came up with an unmistakably silver chain. An amulet made of some yellowish crystal dangled on the end of it. It was engraved, but the letters were worn and I didn't recognize the language.

"This looks valuable. Where'd it come from?" Skye asked.

"Don't ask me," I answered, examining the piece. "I don't remember the source of half this stuff. No, wait. I do know. When I was younger I bugged my Mother about who my father was twenty-four seven. Eventually I finally got her to agree to a compromise. She promised to tell me the truth about myself when I turned fifteen and gave me this necklace then and there. She said it belonged to him, but she didn't know anything about it."

I closed my hand over it and pressed it to my chest. Heaven knows what I expected. Perhaps that it would somehow comfort and/or strengthen me. What I got was a distinctly painful jolt and a foreboding feeling of intense evil. I made a sudden whimpering noise that would probably have sounded a lot like "space lemons" if intelligible.

"What was that?" Skye asked, concerned.

"Nothing, just a cough." The feeling had vanished completely, and this time it was me who wondered if I'd lost it. I shrugged it off.

For reasons I couldn't explain, I put the necklace on. "That's probably worth something," Dyln observed. "Or at least it's pretty. I suppose you wouldn't want to sell something that belonged to your father." I made some sensible reply and the two of us resumed collecting my junk. 

Skye and Dyln resumed their less-than-wisecracks, and I forced the incident out of my mind to laugh along with them. Soon I had convinced myself that it hadn't been anything to worry about and became my usual goofy self. We resumed walking after that, Dyln handling the directions.

At one point, she turned to me. "About how lost do you think we'd be by now if I let you direct us?"

 I narrowed my eyes scornfully instead of replying because my mouth was full. Grey, gritty, and months old or not, chocolate is chocolate.


	4. beginnings

**4**

**Beginnings**

               Our ingenious disguises weren't needed that day; we didn't meet anyone on the road. Still, it was sort of comforting to know that we wouldn't be recognized by all the people who weren't there. That's how Dyln put it, so don't blame me.

               When we settled down to sleep, I closed my eyes before I was on the ground and rolled so that my back was to the fire the second I touched. Anything to avoid watching Dyln and Skye's up-close study of each other's lips. I could still hear them, but no system is perfect.

               When I finally did fall asleep, it was to a startling revelation. Apparently, Hitomi had lost her gift, and I found it. That isn't going to make any sense, so here's the details. (Oh, and the whole thing was _major space lemons)_

               I dreamt I was standing in the middle of a wasteland. There were occasional signs of previous human habitation: the burnt shell of a house, a patch of ground that had once been carefully cultivated, bits of recognizable furniture strewn about, and, right by my feet, a doll. I shivered. It was a lot like the one my mother had made for me when I was little. 

               That was bad enough. It was made considerably worse by the fact that it had obviously been a battlefield. The mangled remains of suits of mechanized armor littered the place. Most was a ghastly green color, the losing side. Once in a long while a pale gray one would appear. Massacre. Blood spattered the ground around the destroyed suits. As I picked my way through I added a little of my own. What was left of a sword ripped across my leg with a pain sharper and realer than one expected to find in a dream. Space- well, you know.

               I was wandering around, trying to wake up and leave this horrific nightmare, when I recognized the landscape, if not the scenery. Home. I turned and ran towards the hilltop where my house… Had been? Would be?

               To my surprise, there_ was a building there, though it was smaller than the cabin I lived in. Roughly half of the hut, however, had been crushed by one of the suits. It was red, unlike most of the rest of them (which, I assumed, pinpointed some sort of officer), and in very slightly better shape. _

               A girl about my age or possibly a little younger crawled out of the house. She was filthy, bruised, and bloody, but even with her ragged gray shift, belted with a frayed piece of rope, this didn't hide the fact that she was extremely pretty. She was lean and sinuous. Her thick, chestnut hair, though horribly tangled, fell past her waist to frame a figure that went neither to my extreme or Dyln's.  She had a shapely face, and her big blue eyes were sorrowful and haunted. They also carried a distinctly familiar glint.

               "Mother!" 

I shrieked pretty loudly, but she didn't glance at me. It stood to reason that I'd be nonexistent to anyone in a past I was only a spectator in.

               There were streaks down her face where tears had fallen, but at present, well, at past, her eyes were dry. She sighed deeply, gazing across the destruction. I wondered how long the battle had gone on and for how much of it she had hidden in that hovel.

               Suddenly, she whirled towards the suit that had crashed into the hut. She had always bragged to me about her spectacular hearing, but I couldn't see what sound other that a gasp of dying machinery could come from the thing. It wasn't as totally decimated as some of the others, but it still didn't seem possible that there could be someone alive in there.

               Mother seemed to think differently. She rushed over to where the cockpit had been, now a horrendously bloody, mutilated mass of charred, twisted metal. Either a bolt of energy had ripped through, or one of the gray dudes had thrust his sword though the middle of the suit. Either way, the odds of survival were about a zillion to one.

               Mother breathed in sharply, a sure sign that she was in a desperate hurry. Her arms and hands were practically shredded as she forced the melded remains of the suit away from wherever she was aiming, and when she kicked the stronger pieces with her bare feet I sensed that she was biting back a scream of pain.

               Suddenly, she seemed to reach her goal. Her arms darted between the sheet metal she had peeled back. I had been standing back a little ways, heaven knows why. I rushed forward at this point.

               Clinging to her strong arm was a limp figure, soaked in gore but obviously alive. Assisting the unidentifiable casualty, she stepped away from the remains of the suit. They moved with agonizing slowness, in both senses of the word. I heard tiny whimpering noises from her charge. Though I knew it would do no good, I linked my own arm with this unfortunate's.

               They (I could hardly count myself as a companion here) finally made their way to the hut. The intact part had luckily been where she slept. She spread out what was little more than a pile of rags on the dirt floor and helped the figure lie down on them. She pulled a larger rag from under what was left of a table. It had probably served as a towel during happier times.

               She tenderly wiped the blood off, revealing, as I had guessed, my father. The dream melted away, and my eyes flicked open. It was still dark, and I could hear Dyln's gentle and Skye's uproarious snoring.

               I glanced over, went cherry red, and turned away. I hope they'd been counting on waking up before I did. It was a long time until I could be justified in rousing them, even if certain things hadn't been stuck together. As it was, I was willing to let them snooze as long and as late as they liked. Space lemons! I doubted I could get back to sleep after the dream, and decided to go for a walk.

               As I stood, I felt a sharp pain in my leg. When I looked down, I saw a long, deep scratch. It didn't hurt much, but was obviously new and bleeding profusely. It was also exactly where I had stumbled against the sword in my dream. Creepy.

               Now that I'd found out I was psychic, things jumped at me from everywhere. Just by looking I could tell something's history. One of the tallest trees I could see had been given a chance to grow when it was a sapling when a nearby elm that had been shading it had been cut down for a battering ram. In another month or so a traveling merchant's wife would die in childbirth, and she and her baby would be hastily buried exactly where I was standing. A young bird flying overhead would soon be eaten by a fox. Centuries back the land had belonged to a cruel nobleman, and a woman and her several children had been executed for poaching deer to keep themselves from starving. Random events from the past and future threw themselves at me. Momentous moments (say _that three times fast!) and inconsequential occurrences raced through my head. Space lemons! It was confusing and distinctly frightening, and I spent hours getting it under control. Finally I could choose whether or not to see things._

               Eventually, I found my way to a river. I was pretty tired, and sat down on a half-rotted log. For fun, I tried to project my ability. It sounded hard, but I found it perfectly effortless. Somehow I found my way into Dyln's head. Her dreams were pretty nasty and utterly unprintable, so I steered clear and into her memory. It seemed like a nice favor. She was always complaining about not knowing a thing about her own past, and if I could dig into her subconscious I might be able to find out who her mother had been or something.

               Bad idea. She knew perfectly well who she was (and her name really _was Dylnia Kumachre), and certainly wasn't to blame for not wanting to talk about it. I don't either, but here's a clue: sex and violence. No wonder she was so tough and devoid of moral conscience; a life rated NC-17 will do that. _

               I moved on to Skye's head. His dreams were no different outside of his viewpoint, but his recollections were much better. His mother had always wanted him to be a soldier, but an understanding father had secretly sent him off to study the music and stories he loved. After leaving apprenticeship to a master bard from a famous acting troupe, he had wandered Gaea to spread his beautiful songs and talent. Normally, I'd have found it sickly-sweet and boring, but after Dyln's horrors I was glad to have something to calm me down.

               When I finished with him, I guess I dozed off. I slept fitfully, dreaming that I was in a ship that was flying on a night when both moons were full. It started moving like a rollercoster. I was screaming and I smelled blood. Several people I couldn't see clearly were similarly panicking.

               My eyes snapped open. I was still wobbly, and the horrible metallic smell of blood clung to my nostrils. To shake the panic, I splashed some cold water from the river onto my face. After that I felt better and forced myself to forget the dream. Space lemons, I wish I hadn't.

               I also wish I'd been paying attention right about then. I was spaced out, scared, and determined to get back to camp no matter how gross Dyln and Skye were. Thus, I didn't hear anyone sneak up behind me and didn't realize anything was wrong until my arms were in a death grip and I was knocked upside the head with something large, blunt, and heavy. Sound familiar? Well, my last conscious thought was a string of curses at myself. Ambushed twice in as many weeks! Space lemons.


	5. prisoner

**5**

**Prisoner**

               When I came to, the first thing I noticed was that my hair was bloody and I had one hell of a headache. It was nearly frightening how similar this capture was to my first one. I didn't technically remember everything that had happened, seeing as I'd been out cold and didn't know the area anyhow, but I used my inner eye to see that I'd been carried to Freid, a city ruled by a guy named Chid. I saw that he was actually Allen's illegitimate son. Some quick calculations on my part proved that he was my cousin. Or maybe not. It depended on how much genetic stuff had been done to change Allen's little sister into my father. I dismissed the issue, which was getting weirder by the second due to my muddled, circular reasoning.

               I examined my surroundings. It was too dark to see, but psychic stuff told me that I was in a small cell under the castle. It was carved out of stone and at the very end of the row so as to be as cold, dark, and damp as possible, an efficient torture measure in itself and (psychic again) reserved for those whom Chid felt deserved the most punishment. Jerk. I catch cold easily, and resigned myself to spending a lot of time sneezing.

               It was right around then that I discovered that I'm extremely afraid of being alone. It's an inherited phobia and a weird one, considering I love my solitude. Since then I've figured out that the difference is that when I ran my unaccompanied errands for Mother I was outside, and with all the little critters (sometimes including my dog) and the forest alive and growing around me it didn't seem like I was by myself. 

In the lifeless prison, there was no such luxury. I was terrified, though I can't really say what of. Some of my fear was reasonable; I was worried about Dyln and Skye and I found it sort of creepy that I'd been recognized through the dark and through my disguise. Otherwise, it was this idiotic, irrational panic that occasionally overtakes me when I'm alone to this day. Mega space lemons. 

I huddled in the corner, miserable and scared and feeling the utmost idiot with what reason I had left to me. The only thing in this whole affair I have to be proud of is dealing with the unpleasant dampness and the spiders. It's not that I'm scared, at least not the way I'm scared of being alone, but I don't like those things. Creepy-crawlies of all descriptions make me sort of nervous.

               Eventually, I fell asleep. My dreams were normal nightmares (the lost alone in the dark thing and the something's chasing you but you can't move thing, successively), but I was a little scared of being psychic right then and this seemed a blessing in disguise. I'm starting to sound like a real coward, but there you have it.

               I spent a long time there, but I don't have a way of measuring how long. I considered every escape method I'd ever heard or read of, but none seemed even remotely plausible now that they could be put to use. The guard slid my food in through a little notch in the door, ruling out the possibility of overpowering him (not that I could have anyway). He didn't see me long enough for the pretend to be sick bit. I didn't have any windows, money, the little keys professional thieves use on locks (I later discovered that the door was bolted), there was no way to dig through solid stone, and Dyln's smooth talking wasn't available. Basically, I was stuck.

               I kept myself from focusing on being alone and in the dark (I do a nervous gulp and shiver even at the memory) by probing around with my third eye. Dyln and Skye were safe. They had guessed that I'd been captured and quickly given up hope of finding me. I was a little hurt, but had to live with it. Besides, they were sticking with the plan and going to see if my mother was okay. I was grateful for that.

               Lord Van was on a diplomatic trip somewhere or other, and Lady Hitomi was spending a lot of time in the castle's gardens with ditzface (her name, I discovered, was Millerna). Allen had been dispatched to eradicate _me (nice uncle). Donovan (remember the blah-looking evil dude?) was plotting something, but I couldn't force my way through this weird mental wall he seemed to have up and get to his brain (space lemons!). Chid was sending a messenger to Lord Van to say I'd been caught. I tried to reach Mother, but whenever I thought I was getting close to her, I'd be overcome by this enormous wave of sorrow. The fact that our home had been the scene of such a slaughter, even fifteen years ago made this less than surprising, but it was still frustrating. Once I'd tried to find my father, but as I couldn't find him directly it hardly made sense to search the whole of Gaea. I tried, and it was exhausting._

               All of this searching was. I sapped my strength more every time I checked up on Dyln, and she was by far the easiest for me to reach. Aside from the weakening effects of my psychic searches, I wasn't fed too often and the cell was wet and freezing. Soon I didn't have to pretend to be sick.

               I was in a pretty pathetic condition when a couple of soldiers showed up to take me in for questioning. They nearly had to carry me to the throne room, where Chid was sitting with a cat girl who looked a couple of years older than he was. I had enough strength to root around in her head a little. She was his wife, her name was Merle, and she was the adopted sister or something of Lord Van. I doubted that I'd find an ally in her.

               It seemed clear that my best chance was to lie, but I didn't have Dyln's natural aptitude for it. My mind was a complete blank. Searching around, I finally thought of a boy's name, but the rest was not forthcoming.

               Chid gave me a rather unpleasant look. "Let's have your name." I could see that he was already well aware of who I was. For all I knew they'd done a DNA test while I was out of it.

               "Kojiro," I said quickly, pitching my voice slightly lower. It was my uncle's name.

               He sneered. "Only protocol, and a measurement of how cooperative you're going to be. It would be a better disguise, _Dilanda, if you hadn't bought it from my treasurer's admittedly half-witted son."_

               That left me feeling stupid, but that was nothing new. I was stopped from making a stinging retort by a coughing fit. Merle (I guess she wasn't that bad) gave me a sympathetic look, but Chid's eyes got harder and I had a sense that he was amused. I didn't like this guy.

               "Classic tactic, Lady, but I think we're a little past storybooks now," he barked. If it were possible, the iciness to his voice would have stopped me. As it was, my lungs were about to fly out of my mouth (doesn't that give us all a lovely mental image) and there was nothing I could do about it.

               Finally, my hacking subsided. I gave him a poisonous glare. "I prefer my storybooks to the real world," I hissed. "Seeing as it has people like you in it." It was hardly a crushing comeback, but there are times I'll sacrifice wit for a clear opinion.

               He shrugged. "Strong words from the deliverer of Doomsday."

               "Skip the cute alliteration," I snapped. "Space lemons! I'd much prefer it if you'd kill me and get it over with. Might save all of you sniveling, cruel nobles from being eradicated. Then Hitomi can knock off some more crap to ruin more lives, and-"

               I would have continued, but I was seized by another bout of coughing. This one was worse, and I choked. I fainted for a split second for lack of air, but was conscious again before I hit the floor. I lay still to get a little strength back. Despite my terrific dilemma, the only thing I could think of was, _this is probably the weirdest case of flu in the history of Gaea. I'm a strange little pickle._

               "Hadn't we already discussed how futile that tactic is?" Chid said icily. "Come on, up."

               The beginnings of an improbable plan crept into my head. I lay still, breathing heavily. As I had hoped, he got up and strolled over. I kept my inner eye on him. That nonchalant look didn't fool anyone. If I died on him, I wouldn't be available for questioning, getting him into some serious trouble with Lord Van. 

               Phase two. I stopped breathing and twitched a little. He leaned over, concerned, and stretched out a hand to pull me back up.

               Thank you, Mother! Despite all my protests about being a pacifist and not having any occasion to fight anyhow, she'd insisted I become little less than an expert in martial arts of various kinds, Judo being my best. I rolled over, grabbed his arm, smashed the guy against the floor to wind him, snatched my little dagger out of its secret notch in my boot, and dragged him back up all in the blink of an eye. Aren't I a modest pickle?

               "Now, let me out of here, now!" I snapped at Merle, who happened to be the closest to me. "Tell all your soldiers they can follow at a distance, but don't make a move until I'm out of the city."

               Wow, did I feel slimy. In all of my books the villain pulled things like this on the sweet little heroine. I squished the guilt under concentration on keeping anyone from calling my bluff. Chid was a jerk, but I wasn't about to kill him or anyone else.

               At one point, when I'd made it about halfway through the city, Merle turned as if she were about to call the soldiers out after me. Trying to keep my feigned devil-may-care-but-I-don't attitude from slipping, I said ferociously, "Careful, Queenie, or I'll serve Chidkabobs." Then I couldn't resist. "I've got a knife and I don't know how to use it. Careful! I might make a mistake."

               Space lemons, my sense of humor will be the death of me. I just _had to use that stupid joke (which I had come up with at the age of nine and always wanted to use) right when I had to seem lethal and serious. As I said it, Merle stared straight into my eyes before I could turn my head. Cat people are good judges of character, and those windows to the soul told her I wouldn't do more than cause some slight discomfort to her vicious hubby. She signaled the soldiers to go after me._

               More space lemons. To buy some time, I connected a foot to Chid's posterior and sent him flying into her. Then I took off like a shot.

               Unfortunately, I was running on pure adrenaline, which can only do so much. I was sick and weak. Never a good runner, I knew they'd have me in a manner of minutes. Desperately, I summoned up a little psychic stuff. It pointed me down a little side street. Dead-end, straight out of a bad cop show. Welcome to my world. Luckily, I felt a tiny mental tug to my left just as Chid's men-at-arms reached the corner.

               Somehow, I ended up under a porch jutting off an abandoned, decaying house. Breathing as lightly as I could, I tried to see if I was telekinetic as well and drag a piece of scrap wood up to disguise the opening. That didn't work, and I had to do it the old fashioned way. Once I made a scraping noise that almost made my heart stop, but one of the soldiers sneezed at the same time. Maybe not a miracle, but it certainly felt like one.

               I stayed crouched in that little space for what was left of the day, counting my suppressed sneezes and having near heart attacks anytime I heard someone walk by. Space lemons, not the best time I've ever had.

               When it was fully dark I crept out. I was cobwebby and shaken, but otherwise all right. I made some attempt to maneuver my way to the main gate, but I overheard some woman gossiping with her neighbor about how it was closed and guarded because of some dangerous criminal.

               I almost laughed. This was a great tactic for keeping some people from getting out, but not me. If you grow up on one foothill and climb on the other, taller ones (and sometimes the mountains) for your daily exercise programs or just because you damn well feel like it, tall, thick walls aren't as imposing as they're meant to be.

               I found a spot that I figured would be the least visible to the rest of the city and shinnied up, no problem. I'm a mountain goat, sometimes. Of course, I hadn't counted on being so damn (such charming language lately) indisposed, and by the time I was half way down the other side, which shouldn't have bothered me much, I couldn't hold on another second. I knew how to fall without getting too badly hurt (another side effect of my childhood environment), and got away with a sprained ankle instead of a broken skull.

               Of course, that was no picnic either. There were soldiers patrolling about ten miles around the city, hoping to be the hero and drag me back. Clairvoyance was a help, but I'd have to keep going to have half a chance.

               Gritting my teeth against pain and weariness, I set off in a random direction and hoped for the best. As usual, it took a while to get there. Space lemons.


	6. reunions

**6**

**Reunions**

               It took the better part of three days to get away from all those guards in the condition I was in, and only a run of luck kept me from capture. As could have been expected, I had to make up for it.

               It should have been getting warmer, but it was looking out to be one of those years when spring didn't come until it should have been summer's turn and fall came early anyhow. It rained quite a bit, often becoming sleet. This didn't do my flu any good, and it didn't help foraging either. When the ankle had been sprained, it had also been ripped open, though I hadn't noticed at the time. The wound was becoming infected, and I didn't know shit about healing. As the situation worsened I started to make bets with the voices in my head (well, not really; I kicked them all out years ago because they couldn't pay the rent) over whether I'd die of hunger or disease first. If things get bad enough, you become sort of detached from everything, including yourself. If it wasn't for that primal survival urge, I'd have curled up under a tree and croaked without noticing the difference. And space lemons.

               I kept hoping for everything to work out, but it wasn't something I depended on. I had learned, over the past few weeks, that reading about adventures and living them were two different things. The latter involved lot of space lemons. Still, I didn't expect that the climax of my misfortune was yet to come.

               About a week after my escape from Freid, I was nibbling another of those roots I had found earlier to make it last. The rain had let up for a little while, and I was attempting to dry off and get back what strength I could. Suddenly, I sensed someone approaching. I was too tired to root around and see who it was, and simply tried to make good my escape. Bad luck again reared its ugly head, though, and I slipped on the wet grass. Promo space lemons. Given my condition, it isn't surprising that I took a while to get back up. By the time I was halfway there, my visitor had arrived.

               The little cloak with the wimpy hood couldn't hide that hair. "Space lemons. If it isn't my favorite uncle."

               "Don't make this worse for me," he said quietly.

               "I'm not trying to make anything worse, Mr. Assassin," I said, surprised at my own calmness. "Just pointing things out. How about a few answers for the dying woman? I can't attack you, you realize. I've got this dinky thing-" I displayed my dagger "-and you've got a full-blown sword. I'd like to see me run away like this."

               He seemed to consider for a moment. "Ask away."

               "Planning on it," I said cheerfully. "Okay. Tell me about the war."

               "That's not a question," Allen pointed out. I gave him what Mother calls "The Dilanda Death Glare" and he cut the crap. "At first we thought that they were simply after the power of Atlantis, you know about that?"

               I nodded. "Basic stuff."

               "Good. As it turned out, there was a fellow named Isaac who was utterly devoted to discovering something about life and destiny. He was psychic, as Hitomi was, only more powerful. Instead of merely predicting the future, he changed it."

               "Okay." Most of this I'd known already. I'd wanted to see if he'd answer for real, which was sort of slimy of me.

               "How did Lord Donovan come to power?" This hit close to home, and I hoped I could guilt him into revealing what I needed to know.

               "His wise councils have expanded the power and bettered conditions of many kingdoms," Allen said haughtily. "When he offered his services to Lord Van, it seemed prudent to accept the help of so great a man."

               That wasn't an answer, but it was obvious that this was all he knew. I had one more thing to ask.

"What happened to my father?"

               "My sister."

               "Whatever."

               "Nobody knows. I was sure I had my sister back, but Serena used the chaos surrounding my wedding to sneak off and we never saw her again. Now, niece or no, I must do my Lord's bidding."

               He averted his eyes some; eyes suddenly full of a horrible guilt and loss. I wondered, as he raised his sword, if he would ever sleep peacefully again, or be able to look in a mirror, knowing what he had done to his own flesh and blood. It made me feel awful myself, but considering I was the one who had seen my last sunset that didn't make much sense. Space lemons, am I bizarre.

               The sword swung, and there was a really disgusting squishing noise. Pain didn't register right then. "Consider yourself forgiven, Al."

               That was when I died. Sort of. Near death experience, anyhoo. Space lemons, it was weird! There was this odd swirl of images (past, present, future, and unrelated to the space-time continuum). Dyln and Skye found their way to my house and told Mother what had happened. My father and other dragonslayers battled Lord Van in an especially gory scene. Mother repaired our roof while a three-year-old Dilanda scribbled pictures in the dirt. That weird Raging Bull of a spaceship showed up again. It could have gone on for minutes or days (it turned out to be the latter, but there was no sense of time wherever I was). Suddenly, things sort of snapped into focus. My father, looking older and sort of haggard, quite different from the picture or my visions, stood before me looking stern. "You have a lot to do yet, little pickle. Don't you dare give up." He handed me a sword. "Take care of that; you'll need it. Gaea depends on it. The true prophesy states that if Dilandau's heir _lies down the sword, then shall Gaea be no more. Donovan switched things a little. He's a bit psychic too. Don't let this happen again, and press on. You've got your mother's stubbornness to you."_

               My eyes snapped open. The first thing to register was unimaginable pain. "Space lemons!" I fought to control that for a few minutes, and then realized I had practically starved to death while I was out of it. I found another tuber thing without to much effort, but discovered that even the slightest movement set my side off again. I was slipping around in blood. You know.

               When I settled in the driest place I could find and stopped the bleeding for the most part, I noticed a sound like water striking metal (it was raining again). I glanced towards it, and saw an oddly shaped shadow where I had been lying unconscious for so long. I went to check it out, trying to ignore all the cold water dripping down my neck (space lemons, I hate that) and walk without moving my waist much. It slowed me down, but I wasn't in any special hurry. 

               "Ommigod."

               That about summed it up. When I picked up my "shadow," it turned out to be the sword my father had handed me. I carried it painstakingly back to my little hidey-hole. The blade was partially out of its sheath, and I could see enough to see that there was something engraved on the hilt. I pulled it out entirely, and managed to decipher "he who wa-" before I suddenly felt dizzy. My hand darted up to my forehead and I managed to register that I was burning with fever before I blacked out once again. Space lemons, this is getting repetitious. 

               I slept for a few days, and recovered enough strength to go on again. My progress was painfully slow (literally) and I didn't really know where the hell I was going, but it seemed better than just sitting there. It almost looked like there was some chance of recovery for a while there.

               On the fifth night after my return to the road, I was feeling a little worse than usual. I had a feeling I'd pressed too hard that day. I'd nearly dropped off when a scream ripped through the woods.

               That's one thing guaranteed to get me up. I sat straight up, giving my side a good wrench and starting to bleed again. Whatever was going on wasn't good. I pulled myself up and ran in the general direction. Yeah, I know. You run _away from screams and obvious peril, not __to it, but I'm curious by nature. Or maybe stupid. Suicidal? Aw, forget it. Space lemons._

               Anyhow, I made my way to the source of the scream (which took long enough!). Some tall guy in a cloak was being attacked by eight or ten guys who looked as though they might have been Chid's soldiers. Maybe Van's. I didn't give a rat's ass. Those odds just weren't fair, all good or bad aside. The cloak dude was obviously a prisoner, and the others were jeering and tormenting him. I didn't hear what they said and didn't care. I suddenly knew what a bomb feels like before it detonates. I had this odd feeling like I was about to completely lose control of myself.

               Looks like I'm good, because that's about when I lost it. Space lemons! I went completely berserk. I think I did a lot of screeching. I really wished I didn't have that sword, because I couldn't stop myself from hacking away at anything nearby. I still spend a lot of time praying that they all somehow survived, but it doesn't seem likely. I may be a wimp, but I prefer _pacifist, and I can't stand to be a killer. _

               When I came back to myself, I was obviously bleeding to death. Not fun space lemons. I slid around some in my own stupid blood and finally managed to stabilize against a tree. I couldn't see very well, but registered that my rescuee (is that a word?) had pulled down his hood and was striding towards me. 

               At that point I was beyond pain. Through the haze the world had become, I heard myself ask, "Are you okay?"

               "It's you I'm more worried about," he answered. "As if my life wasn't hell enough, some idiot girl gets herself killed to protect what Gaea would be better off without." I found my hearing slightly sharpened. His voice was raspy, as if he hadn't used it in a while.

               "Don't worry about me," I answered, and would have waved a hand in dismissal could I have spared the strength. "My goose has been cooked for a week. Might as well make sandwiches with what's left."

               Strangely enough, he actually _understood that bizarre metaphor. I'd always assumed that my mother had coined the odd analogy, and, truth be told, didn't quite get it myself._

               As he laughed (it was a strained, unpracticed laugh, and, like his voice, seemed to have fallen to disuse, which was a shame because it was a particularly _nice laugh, and I better shut up before the run-on sentence police come and get me), I slipped a bit further. Losing my grip on the tree, I slid to the gore I'd left on the ground._

               It suddenly occurred to me that death wasn't so bad. In fact, I seemed to be feeling a bit better. Though I felt pain again, it appeared to be receding. The bleeding slowed some, and the world crawled back into focus. A sense of peace descended and-

               Whoa! As I became slightly more alert, it became glaringly obvious that that sure as hell wasn't peace. It was the same horrible malevolent presence I had experienced when I had pressed that necklace of my father's to me, only spreading and pressing through me. Using a tiny glimmer of my gift that had timidly resurfaced, I traced the source to, no surprises, the necklace or, more specifically, the amulet dangling of it. I pulled it off, snapping the chain and not giving a damn.

               As it lay in my palm, there was a definite glow to it. As soon as I had the sense to grasp it by the chain instead, the feeling of evil left. Unfortunately, whatever that healing process had been was gone. A rush of agony sped through me, and I felt more blood (lots of that in this chapter) trickle out between my fingers. That was when I blacked out.

***

               I came to slowly. I was lying naked under a blanket with a very neat bandage around my middle. It seemed that the man I had helped had rescued me, and that he knew something about healing. I was strong enough to use my psychic whatchmacallit to look backwards and discover that I had been unconscious for days.

               I sat up, and was delighted to find that it cost almost no effort. I was well on my way to a complete recovery, nothing short of miraculous. It looked to be either very early morning or twilight, so I couldn't see much of my surroundings, but what I could surprised me.

               The little cabin had only one large room, but otherwise was built on exactly the same lines as my own house. I knew mother had come up with the structure for convenience when we had high winds and against the slope of our hill. It was also furnished in close to the same way, with a bed of tied sticks in one corner (I was lying on it), a crate next to it serving as a bedside table, a trunk in another, a stove in the next, a neat, three-legged table with one instead of two mushroom-like stools next to it in the middle, and bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters to dry. Even the smell was the same, a mixture of herbs, disinfectant, miscellaneous dust, sweat, and mildew, and smoke. Though slightly creepy, I found this reassuring.

               On the crate next to me, I noticed a scrap of paper held down by the amulet. Squinting in the dim light, I read it slowly.

_To my little mystery savior,_

               _I'm out hunting now. Your clothes were in shreds, so I left an old tunic and leggings of mine on the chest. Your sword is with them, if you feel up to carrying it. It is imperative__ that we speak, so whatever business you had must wait. There is a potion on the table that should help you recover some of your lost stamina._

               The note wasn't signed. I got the idea that _my mystery savior liked his privacy. I staggered to the table and drank that vile stuff. Apparently, it was slow acting. I didn't feel any better, and decided not to spare the energy to get dressed. I made my way back to the bed and went to sleep._

***

               I woke again when I heard the door open and close. I sat bolt upright, not wanting to be missed. It gave my side a jolt, but what the hell. The smile he gave me looked just as unpracticed as his laugh had sounded, but it was reassuring to have anyone smile at me.

               "You're looking a bit better," he observed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Suddenly modest, I pulled the blanket up a little higher. Benevolent as he seemed, I didn't want to take any chances.

               "I'm feeling a bit better," I admitted. "What did you have to speak to me about?"

               He scooped the amulet off the table. "Where did you get this, girl?"

               I overlooked the "girl" (I hate that) and explained about my mother and my nagging. "She said it had something to do with my father. I'd never met him, so anything I could cling to was welcome indeed."

               He looked stricken, and his mouth hung open. I didn't need the overpowering psychic wave that hit me to figure things out.

               "Daddy?"

               The next few minutes were confused but joyous. After we sorted things out, I told him everything that had happened since my capture. He looked furious when I told him about Chid's little ambush, but managed to keep still. Not so when I told him what Allen had done.

               I didn't feel like waiting for him to stop ranting. "Oh, hush. He didn't have a choice, and I could tell he was really guilty about the whole mess. _Really guilty. Besides, the guy's family. In any case, after that I wandered around clinging to life, and ran into you."_

               "Still, I should just kill the bastard…" he trailed off at the look I gave him. We'd known each other for twenty damn minutes and were already acting like an old father-daughter team.

               "Dilanda…" again, he stopped as if he wasn't sure how to say what he meant. "Dilly! That's what I called you as a baby, you know. I'd never dreamed of seeing you again. It was too dangerous for so long, and your mother and I had a huge fight just before I was forced to abandon you. She swore you'd never know who I was. Finding you… well, it's a little _much."_

               "I know just what you mean," I said, grinning and well aware of how corny this was getting. "Just to give you time to recover from the shock, um, that sword I dreamt up? Was it yours?"

               He shook his head. "No. Mine was bigger, and I think it was destroyed anyhow. I'll see if I recognize it."

               He walked over to the chest and before picking up the sword, flung the clothes at me. I slipped into them. He was my father, after all. More from the feel than the look, I recognized them as the same he had worn in what I now knew was my first vision. For a few seconds, I relived that sweet moment, but his current voice just _had to snap me back to reality._

               "This is impossible!"

               "What? Is it Van's or something?" I forced myself to walk over, ignoring the pain in my side.

               "Weirder," he explained. "Listen to the inscription.

_He who walks freely under moon of green_

_Believes what Bulida Atladona__ has seen._

_Meant from the cradle for Sapmoc Selen_

_So that Gaea may be safe again."_

               "Strange poem."

               "It's a prophesy, or at least we thought it was," Daddy explained, both bewildered and gleeful. "On rare occasions I wasn't busy terrifying them, the Dragonslayers and I made a game out of trying to figure it out. This is Migel's, given to him by a village elder before he joined us!"

               "Migel?" I asked.

               "He was one of the youngest dragonslayers," he explained, sighing. "One of the strongest fighters, as well. He was captured by Freid and murdered by a treacherous agent employed by Lord Fulkan who was supposed to rescue him. I killed him."

               I started. My father didn't seem like the sort to kill anyone, but I knew he had. This was the first time I'd heard it straight from him, though, and it made it realer. "K-killed?"

               He nodded mournfully. "The whole problem is up here." He lifted his hair and gestured to a tiny, nearly invisible scar just poking out from behind his ear. "I've mostly got it under control after so long, but the first of Zaibach's experiments was a little implant that basically turns me into an evil berserker under their control."

               "That… explains a lot," a said, shaking my head. I had accidentally picked up a stray thought. The atrocities committed under the influence of that thing were a source of constant shame, guilt, and horror to my father. They had been, even when he was fifteen and busily committing them. During rare bouts of sanity and control, he had made several attempts at suicide to prevent it happening again.

               While I was busy being sympathetic, he continued his inspection of the sword. "It's still under the Medallion's power, to some degree."

               "Medallion?" Notice all the one-word questions lately?

               "The Dragonslayer's Medallion," he said, lifting my evil necklace. "An ancient spell. If its bearer is on the very point of death it heals the exact thing causing the death, but with a price. The life it grants is a cursed one. The evil it was made with is allowed in by the healing, and can seep directly into a person's soul. It's very hard to get rid of. I know it took me years."

               "You left something that dangerous with me and Mother?" I asked, appalled.

               "I didn't expect her to let you have it," he said apologetically. "Or that either of you would be mortally wounded. It's been wreaking its havoc on the world for much too long, and I thought it could do no more harm with you."

               I decided to let it go. He was guilty enough without it being rubbed in. "Whatever. Why's the sword under its power?"

               "The medallion was his pommel stone for a while, but then it was Gatti's turn," he said bitterly. "We actually fought to have that thing. It was an _honor." He spat the word like poison._

               I decided to change the subject. "Why'd Mother say I'd never know who you were?"

               I could have picked a better subject. "She- she was convinced I was only trying to escape fatherhood," he told me, staring out the window to hide the tears I sensed falling. "Life wasn't easy up in the mountains, and she was sure I simply wanted to keep my nice, comfortable position as a Zaibach commander. She wouldn't believe anything about the danger to you as my descendant, because they'd want to see if any of my implanted brain chemistry would be passed on. In sparing you from a life more miserable than mine, I was forced to give you up. She wouldn't even let me say goodbye to either of you."

               One of the more unpleasant bits of being psychic surfaced. Something suddenly took control of my mouth and tongue, forcing me to say what I was sure would be painful to hear. "My Dilanda. Dilly. My poor, sweet little one. My only consolation is that you may never know your father's shame."

He jumped. "You scare me," he almost laughed. "The first thing I ever said to you, and close to the last. I understand why she was so furious, but did she have to be so… cruel about it?"

"She's a tough lady," I said, feeling both his pain and my mother's as I caught the memory. "She was just being her stubborn self. I've inherited a lot of that. Anyhow, I was looking for her, like I said, and I'll see if I can get her to believe you."

               "Thanks, Dilly," he stood up and strode over to the trunk. "I meant to give this to her, but she was too busy screaming at me to notice." He produced a glittering silk scarf. It was aquamarine, Mother's favorite color and birth moon. Tiny gemstones studded the edges. I made a girlish gasping noise, the only one I remember ever coming out of my mouth. Thank God. Do I look like Millerna?

               He draped it ceremoniously over my neck. "You'll have to take it until we find her."

               I stroked the silk. It must have cot a fortune, and I'd never had on anything so rich in my life. He _had been a nobleman, I reminded myself. Its smooth, gliding quality and the delicate tickle of the stones felt glorious. Still, I handed it back. "I wouldn't trust me with anything so nice. Like you saw, I'm hard on clothes."_

               "Take care of it anyhow," he said with a nod and smile. "You should get some sleep. That isn't going to heal without some pampering."

               I nodded, suddenly realizing how tired I was. "Where're you gonna sleep?"

               "Oh, I'm a night owl," he said, quite honestly. "I don't need much, and the floor's fine if I get drowsy. I've been living by my wits quite a while, and it's no hardship. You need to rest that wound properly."

               I didn't feel like arguing, and immediately lay down. For some reason, my mind wandered back to the riddle on the sword. I kept going over it. The better part was clear, about the green moon (either born under or the time of some important event) and keeping Gaea safe. The rest, about seeing and meant from the cradle, and those odd nonsense phrases, made absolutely no sense.

               I was on the edge of drifting off. You know, when you start dreaming but know you are? Or am I the only freak who does that? Back to the point. Suddenly, the words were written out in my mind like on a blank piece of paper and rearranged themselves:

**B U L I D A   A T L A D O N A     |     S A P M O C   S E L E N**

**D I L A N D A   A L B A T O U     |     S P A C E   L E M O N S**

               Space lemons, no pun intended. Will somebody please predict something that doesn't involve me? Even my little phrasey thingy worked its way into this one.

               I turned to tell Daddy. Some night owl; he was sawing logs. Without anyone to report my findings to, I simply tried to puzzle it out more carefully. I was in there, but it wasn't necessarily solved just because of that.

               Meant for Space Lemons. That makes little enough sense on its own power, but the meaning was a clear. I didn't see how it was _possible, but obvious was one thing I could say for sure. Meant was one way to say betrothed, but he was __dead! Of course, so was I, officially, and Daddy. Incidentally, if he was somehow still alive, he'd be twice my age._

               Believes what Dilanda Albatou sees. Though I'd never thought of it, it was my father's last name and sort of mine. Would I have some vision so outlandish no one else thought it even remotely plausible and Migel would know the truth of it, or something? Then I realized I'd just established that he was dead anyhow, and was _really confused._

               Sleep is the best way to get rid of problems. Sometimes the answer comes to you in a blinding, miraculous flash, but more often it just lets your brain catch up with you. Either way, I was in desperate need of some.

***

               I woke the next morning to birds chirping, sunlight on my face, and a delicious smell in my nostrils. I recognized it as mother's recipe for this fruity cake-like thing. I love those.

               Daddy was up and eating. I hauled myself over to the table and grabbed two. "Pig," I observed. "That recipe makes a lot more than this."

               "I cut it in half," he said through a mouthful. "I'm by myself most of the time, and I don't eat much."

               "Duh." The guy was as goddamned skinny as me. "Forget I was here?"

               "Not really, but making it this way is habit."

               We slipped into normal breakfast table conversation about stuff I don't remember. It wasn't until I was nine tenths of the way through my third cake that I remembered the revelation the night before. I decided to let him have it gradually. With everything I seemed to be the middle of, I was gonna trigger his fatherly protective mechanism pretty damn soon and get grounded or something.

               "I solved the sword thing while you were asleep," I said, planning a really dumb joke as I went along. So sue me. It was early.

               "I hate you," he said with a chuckle. "I've spent years trying to figure that out. So?"

               Even to me, my idea (making him play word games until he got it and laughing, ha-ha) seemed phenomenally stupid. I decided to leave my stale wit where it belonged. "The key is in the little chunks of apparent gibberish. Bulida Atladona, if you play around with the letters a little, turns into Dilanda Albatou. Sapmoc Selen becomes space lemons, which is my all-purpose phrase."

               Do you know there actually are people whose jaws drop to their chests? I've never seen it happen before. After a second, he got over his surprise and got mad. Sigh. I knew it.

               "I don't care _what that means. You __are not putting yourself on the line for __another unidentified cause! You're __fifteen years old!"_

               I let him go on until he ran out of things to babble about. "Dad," I cut in (Daddy, though satisfying several old fantasies of mine, was starting to feel babyish). "We're talking predestination here. Or maybe just a wild guess, in which case it's a _really good one. By the way, you were up to worse than this at this age."_

               He yelled at me some more. I tuned it out and poked around for stray psychic thingies. Suddenly, I caught my breath and cut him off.

               "Dad, we gotta go," I snapped. "Don't ask why. I've just got this feeling it'd be a good idea."

               It didn't shut him up, but at least it turned him onto another subject. "Considering your track record, I'll agree, but are you strong enough yet?"

               "Yeah, or I'll have to be," I said, trying to shake the sudden feeling of doom that had descended on me. "I'm not exactly an expert with this. You want it?" I held out Migel's sword.

               He shook his head. My urgency seemed to have knocked some sense into him. "No, it's linked to you somehow. Besides, I've had enough fighting to last me well beyond the rest of my life."

               "Well, in case of utmost necessity…" I reached down to the boots he had let me keep and produced the dinky dagger, as I thought of it. "Besides, we'll probably have to do some hunting."

               "Thanks," he said, accepting it and mimicking my mode of transport. "What use has this been put to, or don't I want to know?"

               "I whittled a chain for Mom's pet goat and terrorized Duke Chid," I said with a laugh. "Oh, and Dyln gave me this wonderful haircut."

               "It's sort of cute," he said in an overly-nice fatherish way.

               I snatched the Dragonslayer's Medallion off the table and hung it around my neck. "Somebody has to look after this. If I get hurt again, you can hold on to it."

               He shrugged, not looking happy about it but not wanting to argue with me. "Anyhoo, I mean _how, I've had you around too long, are you sure we have to leave? I don't like the idea of you traveling without that properly healed, and I've become rather attached to the place over the last thirteen years."_

               "Well, I'm not _sure about anything," I admitted. "But I've got a really bad feeling about this, and now I've got another feeling we should go this way." I gestured to the east._

               "The mountains are more north," he pointed out. "Why-?"

               I cut him off. "You got me," I confessed. "I don't know the why of much anymore, it seems. Can you tell me anything else about Migel, just by the way?"

               "Not really," he said thoughtfully. "We gained him as a mercenary, and I know almost nothing about his past. He was loyal when he wanted to be, but always seemed to be a little distant. He was nice, I suppose, as much as a soldier could be. He was afraid of fire. None of that helps much, I guess."

               "He's definitely dead?" I asked. I hadn't pointed out the "meant" part. It wasn't the sort of thing Dad'd notice if he wasn't trying, but it was making _me nuts. I am already, but that's beside the point._

               "His murderer said he was, and sounded satisfied," he replied with a deep sigh. "There are people who actually _like to kill. I was one, but when I was outside that implant's power I hated myself. Most assassins don't have that excuse."_

               I shrugged. "That's generally called evil. Can we leave philosophy, please? It makes my brain hurt."

               "Fine," Dad agreed. "A lot of people should be dead but aren't, returning to Migel. Can't you do a psychic check or something?"

               "I've experimented a bit," I told him. "I have to know or at least have met someone I'm looking for if they aren't right there. Sometimes even someone I _do know can't be reached. Mother, for example, has some sort of wall up. Heaven knows why."_

               "Heaven and me," he said with a sigh. I didn't say anything for a while.

               Safe and comfortable in Dad's house, there had been an ever-present dull ache in my side, but I'd grown used to it. Now I was reminded of how much it hurt when I walked. I hid the pain as long as I could, but suddenly tripped over a hole in the ground and couldn't get up without a _lot of help. Space lemons._

               Dad helped me lean against a tree and gave the wound a once over. He looked madder than hell as he patched it up where it had bled a little again. "Guilty or brother he may be, I'm going to kill the bastard."

               I was about to tell him off and remind him of how he'd fought too much already (odd how people will forget these things) when a deep, all-too-familiar voice cut in. "I believe that's Dilanda's right."

               I was already facing blondie, but Dad had to whirl dramatically around, drawing the dagger.

               He looked so pitiable and morose I was ready to forgive him (again), but Dad couldn't say the same. "I think it is," he snarled, giving me an expectant look.

               "Implant's talking," I snapped to shut him up and make Allen stand around trying to figure _that out, which gave me time to think of a way to make everyone sort of happy (and also to punish Al a bit; I'm only human)._

               "Alrighty then," I said, trying to remember how to say this. "Sir Allen, protector of Fanalia, I spare your life in exchange for your sword." That wasn't _exactly how it went in the book, but close enough._

               They both gave me a weird look. Dad obviously didn't know what I was talking about (Zaibach used a different system of honor), and Allen was just surprised.

               "Welllllllllll," I said expectantly. When a knight offered his sword, he gave his allegiance and protection to a lord or, less commonly, to a friend or employer. Doing it for me meant renouncing his connection to Lord Van and Fanalia. I was fine with that. Let him sweat. Ha! That's what you get for trying to slice me in half, you absolute bastard.

               After a moment's deliberation, he decided he'd rather go under my thumb than lose his head, which is lucky because I'd never have been able to do it. Allen drew his sword, knelt with his head down, and placed it across his palms. After reciting some courtly mumbo-jumbo and getting his shoulder tapped sort of roughly by my own sword, he stood.

               "Will _somebody tell me what __that was all about?" Dad asked politely, that creepy bloodlust of his gone._

               "Allen's completely my property," I explained, oversimplifying horribly. "He does what I say. We could use the extra help. Besides, I kinda like him."

               Both men shrugged. I am on the strange side. Oh well. Space lemons.

***

               The brothers' reconciliation was _so cute. Dad asked forgiveness for not being Serena (he'd gone through a lot of trouble to change himself back, actually), and Allen vowed to warm to having a brother instead. He also told us quite tragically how he couldn't bring himself to return to Fanalia with my death on his conscience and had been about to retire from the world as a hermit or something. Sweet, but bizarre._

               Once we worked our way through all the sugar and spice (Allen later insisted on apologizing to me about eighty times), it was getting dark. We like to drag things out in this family. Anyhoo, we made camp. It was actually starting to warm up (finally) and I passed a relatively comfortable night.

               The next morning was as bright and cheerful as the last had been. It turned out Allen was a kind of a fun guy when he wasn't being penitent and/or formal and the three of us spent the morning exchanging bad jokes. My favorite is still the one about the duck that goes into the bar and- Oh, yeah. The story. SPACE LEMONS!

               Around noon, I had what I at first thought was a flashback to meeting Dad, but when I realized the other two had noticed the somehow familiar scream I had a feeling that wasn't it. Allen glanced at me. "Dilly [yeah, he's taken it up too], can you tell what that is?"

               "I can try." I reached out in the general direction. "Space lemons! It's Dyln, Skye, and Mother!" FYI, I don't know why she's "mother" instead of "mom." More space lemons. "Chid's bastards have got them!" Later, I realized I'd just dissed Allen's son to his face. Bad Dilanda. Go to bed with no super. I'm schizophrenic, just so I know.

               "You two sword-bearers had better handle this," Dad said, looking mournfully at the dinky dagger. I could tell he wanted to dash in and be the hero for Mom. (I did it! She's Mom!) I offered him the sword, but he declined. I didn't want to use it any more than he did, but what choice is there?

               So we did some cool stuff with swords that I don't _want to remember, and all of them ran away with their tails between their legs (somebody recognized Allen and had him declared a traitor, as we discovered later). Yippee. I hope nobody died, but I can't be sure. I went a little nuts. Apparently, some of that crazy chemical__ was passed on. Am I blathering? Space Lemons._

               My memory starts again when we were done and I was standing there spent because I still wasn't in good shape and Allen was in this impressive sword stance and hadn't even turned a hair. I hate him. Then Dyln went ballistic on me.

               "How the hell did you get away from watsisface, you evil little pickle!? You had us all worried to death! It was all we could do to keep your mother from storming the castle! Where were you?! You knew where we were going! It couldn't have taken _this long to catch up! Why're you with Allen?! Did you get pardoned?! What happened?!"_

               And so on. I don't know why, but that annoying cat girl is harder to tune out than Dad. Maybe her voice is more piercing. In any case, I had to shut her up before she drove us all insane.

               "I was attacked by malicious baby squirrels bent on capturing me to join the ranks of nut-picking slaves for the rest of my life and when I got old sacrifice me to the god of the chestnut trees." Dyln doesn't do a jaw-drop nearly as well as Dad. When in doubt, go for the very weird.

               Dad took advantage of the interval of silence to make a dramatic appearance. Mom, who hadn't bothered trying to get a word in edgewise (she's a good judge of character), made a raspy squealing noise I hope never to hear again and threw herself into his arms. My mediation, apparently, wasn't needed. I untied the scarf, sorry to see it go.

               Mom's face was buried in his shoulder (it would have been cuter if it had been his chest, but she's tallish, so how the hell did I end up so damn short?) and, from what I could see, was sobbing, "Dillydillydillydillydilly," or something like that. He got called Dilly too, which means I'm not the only crazy pickle around! Anti space lemons!

               After a few minutes he pulled away with his hands on her shoulders. "Am I forgiven then?"

               She did something very close to a double take and slapped him. "Not on your life, you fuckin' bastard."

               "Mom! Chill!" I handed her the scarf. "Now be nice. As a result of 'escaping the responsibilities of fatherhood,' I didn't spend my life strapped to a dissecting tray. A really, really, _big dissecting tray. Um, what was I talking about?" There's a reason I ordinarily leave this stuff to actual mediators. At least I got them to laugh enough to forget about yelling at each other._

               So here we are all together again, whoop-de-doo. Don't worry. It gets exciting again! Space lemons! Don't stop reading! Noooooooooo…!


	7. answers

**7**

**Answers**

               So about two days later (we "all" decided to stop and fuss over poor little wounded Dilanda; EVIL EVIL EVIL!) we were walking again, heading towards Fanalia. I don't know what exactly we were going to do when we got there, but what else are you gonna do? We were sort of at a loss.

               It was warm, but rainy. Allen had given me his cloak (which had the symbol of Fanalia's royal house emblazoned on the back) to make sure I didn't get sick. I wasn't in top condition, but it was better than you'd know from these biddy hens. Space lemons.

               It was getting dark, and the edges of the heavy clouds that were still around threatening to drench us again were bright orange from the sunset. We were right by the ocean, walking along these big cliffs, which got different and very amusing reactions out of everyone.

               Dyln was going on poetically about love and sunsets, a connection I'm afraid I failed to see. Skye is afraid of heights and was hiding behind Allen begging that the rest of us walk further from the edge (we were about ten feet away, I'm so scared). The aforementioned gentleman was describing some military technique employed by his commander twenty or so years back to anyone who would listen, specifically no one. Mom was walking close to the edge, quietly reliving some piece of her childhood I had been previously unaware of (far as I knew she'd grown up in our mountains). Dad was telling the air, though I was actually _listening to him, about Lords Fulkan and Van and the huge, feathered angel wings that had sprung from their shoulders when needed. They were the last Draconians, a race of people with wings. His point was, I think, how useful such an ability would have been for us if we encountered some chasm in the cliffs we had to get over later. I __don't __know._

               All and all, it was pretty peaceful. I was walking at the back and staring into space, not paying attention to much. Idiot. If I'm ambushed one more time…

               That about covers most of what happened. Some soldier dudes, considerably more than before and a mixture of Fanailian and Freidish troops, sprang out at us. Swords or not, we didn't have a chance against that many, and I didn't go berserk for some odd reason. Dad almost did, but Mom managed to calm him down.

               Probably because I was last in line, everyone else was captured before me. I guess I sort of forgot where I was as I backed away from the three soldiers coming after me (they had bows, or I'd have run properly; what a coward). Before I knew what was happening, my heel pressed into the thin air beyond the cliff's edge. I didn't have any balance to regain, and plummeted over the side. Above my own screams, I heard Dyln and Dad shout my name. Everyone else was either stunned into silence or busy struggling.

               It was a long way to the bottom. I tried to "wake up" a couple times, which tells you just how desperate I was. Just before I hit the ground, my hand, as if controlled by someone else, darted to the Dragonslayer's Medallion. By the time I ripped it away, I was on the ground. It had saved me from immediate death, but I knew I had very little hope of survival. I had nanoseconds to think on this before I blacked out. Space lemons…

***

               I have some great luck. When my eyes flickered open it was completely dark, but I knew by the feel that I was in a bed. It seemed as if some other charitable local had found my mutilated body and decided to miraculously nurse me back to life.

               Unlike Dad, this guy was present when I woke. At the tiny groan that escaped me, he lit a candle. I didn't like the look on his face _at all._

               "Okay, you Fanalian bitch, you're going to answer a few questions before you die on me," he hissed. I was confused for a second, then remembered the embroidery on the cloak Allen had loaned me. With that on, I could easily have been a general or princess. Space lemons!

               I pretended to ignore him, but was really debating whether or not to explore his brain a little. It had become against my principles to pull that stunt without permission, but this seemed like a good time to ask forgiveness later. An enemy of Fanalia might be a friend or foe to me, and my life probably depended on knowing which he was. This decided me. I reached out, wrapping my mind around his.

               I went backwards. He didn't seem much older than me, and I didn't want to have to start from when he was a baby when whatever bugged him had probably happened a year or so before. Strangely enough, everything I sensed for at least fifteen years was in this little cabin, alone and (creepy!) the same damn age! It wasn't until I felt the little jolt that tended to mean I was going to a time before I'd been born that things started to happen.

               Terror (his, of course) flowed over me in a wave. Locked in a dungeon in Freid for his allegiance to Zaibach and an attack on _Allen, in the same cell I'd been forced to endure, he awaited his fate. Someone I couldn't see clearly (I was tired and his memories weren't coming very clearly; God knows which caused the other) came to him. The new arrival was supposed to do something… Save him from Freid! But he didn't. Instead, he forced him to tell terrific lies to get my beloved uncle thrown into the same dungeon. Later, he had escaped, but had found something out about the guy who was supposed to rescue him that he didn't want known. The guy had tried to kill him._

               He'd sneaked up behind him, announced something about "seeing too much" or something like that, and attempted to choke him to death. Just to be safe, one of the fingernails he'd sharpened into claws had been soaked in a horrible poison that elongated life so you felt the chemicals burning away your innards. Ugh! This assassin seemed to have a cruel streak. He jabbed the tip gently through my guy's neck, not even deep enough to leave a discernable mark. The odd power of his sword, absorbed from the Medallion that had adorned it weeks before, had negated the deadly effects of the poison, though it was still painful enough, but not done anything about the life extension effect. As a result, my rescuer had been locked in his present age (fifteen) for _fifteen years (one period of time had something to do with the other, but I still haven't figured it out properly). Terrified of a successful murder by the same man and of what the Zaibach commanders might do to him for his failure (I wasn't exactly sure what failure he was afraid of), he had spent most of that time merely __surviving in this little house. Only months before, the anti-aging had finally worn off and let him grow again. In that time, he had learned of the death of every friend he'd ever had and made several failed attempts at suicide._

               His name, though I'd already figured it out, flung itself at me. Migel!

               It was mean, but I decided to play with his head a little. "What have you against Fanalia?" I asked regally, curbing with difficulty the uneducated sort of edge my mountain upbringing had given my voice.

               "Fifteen deaths," he snarled. The Dragonslayers had been killed by Van, I suddenly recalled.

               "My heart bleeds." Technically, I wasn't lying. If my tone had been sympathetic instead of sarcastic, he'd have known it was true.

               Migel looked like a volcano about to erupt. I decided to ditch my clever lead up and just let him know who I was. It seemed safer.

               Before I could blurt everything out, he drew a dagger not much bigger than the dinky one. "Name. I'd just like to know what relation of that bastard is getting what _he deserves."_

               "I'm not related to Van at all," I protested, suddenly inventing a (relatively) clever _and direct method. "I'm Allen's niece."_

               "His _sister married then?" he spat. He was bitter about Dilandau's transformation into Serena. Perfect!_

               "He doesn't have a sister," I explained calmly. "She got herself turned back into my Dad. This is yours, right?"

               I pointed to the sword, which was set on a small table near the bed.

               I wonder if Dad learned _his little trick from Migel, because you really could have stuffed a melon into his open mouth. I'm evil, aren't I?_

               I snapped it shut with the tip of my finger, as I'd read in one or another of my books. "Careful. Something'll fly in."

               He was still gaping. This was stupid. I decided to snap him back into action and recited my revised version of the inscription. So then he goes from gawking to blustering. Men and space lemons. Sigh.

               He eventually got his brain back in place. Luckily, he wasn't quite as dense as I'd thought and figured out that "Dilanda Albatou" was my name. Unfortunately, he was terrified of Dad and had that noblemanish courtliness I hated about Allen.

               He genuflected. "My Lady Dilanda, I beg mercy for my insolence." Pu-leeeez.

               "Ah, shaddup," I snapped. Before he could protest much, I launched into the long tale that had started on my fifteenth birthday (how long ago that seemed!), stressing the reason Dad had been such a psychopath and also that I hate stupid manners.

               As I continued, Migel seemed to relax. Somewhere around getting captured by Chid, he sat down at the edge of the bed. When I finished, he actually dared to smile at me a little.

               "That wasn't easy," he said with a thickheaded male version of sympathy. "At least Lord Dilandau isn't as scary as I remember. Still, don't tell him I threatened to kill you."

               "As long as you didn't hurt me, he'll probably laugh," I assured him. "So how about you? Fifteen years of fifteen?"

               He sighed. "Don't dig around in there anymore. It's spooky. They were all pretty, I dunno, miserable. I tried to kill myself a few times."

               "Everyone I know seems to have," I said thoughtfully. It was true, or almost. Skye had only _considered hanging himself while he'd been a prisoner, but Dyln had gone through with an attempt at cutting her throat. Mom had tried to poison herself at one point (I'd picked this up during the two days we'd spent together) because of her battle with Dad, and, though I didn't know the particulars, I'd seen scars on my father's wrists._

               "That's sort of dismal," he supplied with a brighter smile that was, for want of practice, closer to a sneer in shape. "So is this conversation." To get our minds off all the danger and drama we'd just discussed, Migel told me an old legend from his village. It was one of the few tales I'd never heard in any version, and he was a great storyteller. Sharing a good yarn is as good a way as any to make friends, and by the time he finished, we were the best of pals.

               He offered to get us something to eat when he was done. If Migel cooked half as well as he told, I'd be happy. While he was cooking, I suddenly remembered to assess the damage to my person.

               I'd noticed that my arm hurt before, but not paid much attention. On closer examination, I discovered that it was broken in so many places the bone was, for the most part, smashed to pulp, and not only hurt too much to move but _wouldn't. It was probably exactly where I'd fallen. The back of my neck and legs, as well as the back itself, were bruised, cut, and generally battered beyond reason or recognition. I had a neat little dent in my skull. Lovely._

Migel turned out to be a reasonably good cook, and I was starving. The odd sort of shellfish and seabird stew he made up was quite filling, and he seemed to have a talent for brewing. Mother's ale wasn't nearly so good. 

It's not often I get anything out of supper but food, but this repast turned out to be the exception. We discovered over the meal that we had very similar warped senses of humor, that he liked reading (as well as telling) old adventure stories as much as I did (and do), and that he had his own little phrase: atomic grapefruit. It didn't have quite the _charm space lemons did, but it was nice to know someone else had their thingy to say whenever the situation called for it. One good freak deserves another. For the first time in my memory, I also noticed that my companion was __extremely handsome._

After we ate, he advised me to get some rest and try to get better. This was a good idea, but I couldn't get comfortable and the nights were cold near the ocean. This made the older wound ache. Migel, taking a leaf out of the books of mothers everywhere, tried to help me relax with another story.

               My god was he good. I'm aware of how soppy this will sound, but "the stories spun by his rich voice did a spectacular job of carrying me away to the Mystic Moon, beyond the stars, to the farthest reaches of Gaea, and the deepest part of the sea" (chronologically).

               As the story ended, I did feel pleasantly sleepy, but felt compelled to compliment him on the job. He blushed. "We're a people who love our tales," he explained, but wouldn't say what people this was. He did sound wistful, and glanced out through the only window in the place at the few bold stars visible through the clouds.

               I still don't know what happened. One second I had only placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, the next his lips were pressed against mine as his hands gently caressed the small of my mangled back. So much for my utter disdain of "stupid mush." I pushed closer, draping my functional arm over his shoulders and nudging my tongue into his mouth. We stayed like this for a few minutes, but suddenly I sensed his brain catching up with him and he pulled away.

               He was remembering my father at fifteen, a man who would have killed without a second thought for a "slight" to his daughter. Poor Miggles. (Space Lemons! Where'd that come from? Miggles?!) Fortunately, I knew how to reassure him.

               Pressing my cheek against his, I whispered, "He wouldn't do anything to you, and I wouldn't let him anyhow."

               Migel smiled weakly. "Even if I was tortured to death, Atladona, it'd be worth it."

               _Atladona, I thought blissfully. __It's better than Dilly, anyhow, and it's sort of my link to him. After that, I didn't have to think._

***

               I don't know what pulled me awake that morning, but I remember well how I woke slowly to the joy of Migel nuzzled against me, still dreaming.

               I'm generally a skeptic of love at first sight, but what the hell. Something about this seemed so r_ight, as if we really were meant for each other. Perhaps fate had had a hand in keeping him young for so long._

               I shifted slightly so I could see him better. He was even handsomer in the gray, pre-dawn light. His soft brown hair and the adorable bangs that had gotten into both our eyes framed his sweet face. I sent out a tendril of psychic stuff to make him open his eyes in sleep, so I could admire their shape and the gorgeous green that reminded me of the forest near home. The sly smile he wore let me know _exactly what he was dreaming about without bothering to check. The one arm still wrapped around me was lean, but muscular. Life by the sea was probably as hard as it was in my mountains._

               As slight as it had seemed, my movements were enough to wake him. The second he was fully awake, he rolled on top of me. "Feel any better, Atladona?" he asked kindly.

               "Sore and sleepy, but happier than I've ever been," I answered, sealing it with a kiss.

               He sighed, and moved off again. "I wish we could have gone- you know."

               I shrugged (ow!). "I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea. Besides, a baby would be a _bad idea, and it's about the right time of the moon." I regretted the words as soon as they'd left my mouth. Few enough fifteen year-old boys know about that stuff, and I don't know who'd have told him during the immobile years. I stuttered an apology._

               He grinned. "Hey, I got the birds and the bees off my Mom, not my friends. I didn't have any of those."

               I relaxed, but the last thing he said bothered me. "Yes you did! What were the other Dragonslayers like?"

               I could tell I'd hit on a touchy subject. He looked upset, but answered me anyhow. "Chesta was always… careful. He'd had a hard life, which I guess explained it. He was also pretty sentimental. That might have just been him. Gatti was raised in a traveling acting troupe, and he was always a huge ham. He was pretty good-natured, and I never knew him to fight with anyone even when the rest of us were tearing at the closest guy's throat. Dalet was sort of dark and spooky, and he was always sure evil spirits lurked behind everything. Viole was sort of dull. He got sick a lot and never had much to say. Guimel was on the happy-go-lucky side, but gullible and got picked on a lot. He had really pouffy hair, and whenever you saw him, it was practically a tradition to go 'baaaaaaaa.' Blake was totally gay, which I wouldn't have minded if he hadn't been constantly plotting to jump my bones. He was okay, just kind of a fairy. Damien was just a jerk. The others I didn't know too well. Why?"

               "Just wondering," I answered. "I'm just trying to figure you out. Any reason you call me Atladona?"

               He shrugged. "I dunno. It just came out. Maybe it's because everyone else uses your name or calls you Dilly. I like to have something that's completely mine. By the way, I haven't figured you out by any means, but it doesn't bother me. Does it have to matter? I already love you for yourself, known or not."

               We both stopped a minute at that. We knew it, of course, but this was the first time either of us had said point blank that we were in love. I'd been about to a few times, but somehow chickened out. Migel deserved a reward for that one. I hope a kiss covered it, because what else was I gonna do?

               A few minutes later, it brightened a bit more. Migel suddenly pulled away from me. "Ever seen a sunrise by the ocean?"

               "Only in the mountains," I countered. "I loved that, though. It's the most glorious thing on Gaea."

               "Watching the morning come in is the one thing I like about this place," he said cheerfully. "It's kept me going, at some points. We're lucky; the clouds seem to have moved off and it's a clear day."

               "Good," I laughed. He looked like a little kid about to get a present. With all the gloom in my life around then, it was nice to have someone who seemed so innocent. "Help me up, Migel."

               He did better than that. Once I was standing, he hoisted me off my feet and spun me around. "You're lucky I'm such a featherweight," I teased. "Whee! Do that agian! It was almost like flying!" He did, but I thought I saw some odd shade of emotion pass over his face. It was gone in a moment and I was sure I'd imagined it. I'd vowed never to let myself into his mind if I didn't have a good reason to, and didn't look for anything.

               We stepped outside. I shivered (Migel was fine, though dressed only in shorts and sandals; I guess he was used to it). There was a light mist hanging over the water, but as the sun rose it vanished. The world grew steadily brighter, and I had a chance to look around.

               Migel's house was on a gap in the cliffs that hit the ground about fifty feet long and twenty wide. The fine white sand massaged and tickled my feet after I shed the suddenly constraining boots. There was a little tide pool near the water, full of delightful little fish and sea critters. The cliffs proved to have chunks of quartz in them at our level, and they caught the sun's rays, brilliantly reflecting the red and orange as the life-giving orb. I can be quite poetic if I want to.

               As the sun finally wrested itself free of the unseen giant in the east (this old legend had simply popped into my head; it was among both of our favorites), I stopped exploring and stood at the water's edge, drinking in the sight. Migel stood beside me, his arm around my waist.

               Being with the man I loved at a wonderful moment was enough to draw a little sigh of contentment out of even me. I trembled a little as it escaped me, and somehow Migel caught my pleasure. He pulled me closer, and I rested my head against his shoulder. We held this position for some time, just being happy.

               Suddenly, I heard a tiny sound like air rushing past something large but gentle (how that's a sound I don't know). I turned my head slightly to see what was making the noise. Migel tensed and suddenly stepped away from me. There was nothing there when I looked, but he seemed sort of scared.

               I didn't do it purposefully, but his sudden, strong fear of losing me coursed through my mind. I turned to him accusingly. "What aren't you telling me." It didn't come out as a question.

               He looked away. "N-nothing to d-do with you."

               I was mad, but I still didn't like to see Migel so scared. I sensed a tear hitting the sand, and my heart melted. I covered the few steps to him and kissed his cheek. "Migel, I love you. Nothing will change that."

               He stepped back with his hands on my shoulders and stared straight into my eyes. There was nothing left hidden. I didn't need second sight to see that, more than fear, whatever he was keeping from me triggered a sorrow deeper than I had known was possible. Migel's eyes closed and he breathed deeply, gathering courage. 

               A split second of intense concentration, and huge, beautiful wings burst from his bare shoulders. I stepped back, gasping in amazement. A Draconian!

               "Exactly," he spat bitterly. I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. "The last, except for his highness." He looked angry and afraid.

               I realized he must have misinterpreted my awed retreat as disgust. Jealous of wings, wary of power, and instinctively terrified of what they didn't understand, regular Gaeans had been randomly massacring the already dying Draconian race for centuries. Asturia had been responsible for the last great bloodbath about twenty years before, exterminating what was supposed to be the last remnants of the Draconians. Though quieter about it because of Lord Van, most people still spoke of them in hushed tones and they were named as demons in many of the old tales.

               Suddenly, it was my turn to be irritated. Did Migel really think I was the kind of person who would give in to deadly prejudices like that? Then I remembered that he must have lost his entire village (the one he refused to say anything of), possibly to someone who hadn't seemed like that either. I calmed down quickly, and when I realized he was crying any last traces of annoyance turned to empathy. I rushed into his arms.

               He made a choking noise after I kissed him. I put my useable hand behind his head and pulled him down to my level so I could whisper, "Did you think I would care?"

               "You don't?" I'd never heard anyone sound more relieved. "I suppose I'm just used to…"

               "Being considered a demon?" I finished for him, stepping backwards. "Poor Migel. They're lovely, or at least I think so."

               Gratitude mingled with his relief. "Thanks."

               "How big are they, unfurled?" I asked in genuine curiosity. The left wing opened completely. It was bigger than _I was! "Gorgeous!"_

               It looked like he was just going to fold it back up, but it suddenly swiveled forward more than it looked like it could and swept me against him. I expected that to hurt, with all my bruises and such, but the wing was so soft and gentle I wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been so strong at the same time.

               The feathers of the wing tickled pleasantly. It was like being under a rich, heavy blanket. Migel's arms twined around me. "Atladona love, I was so sure you'd hate me."

               I stared into his eyes, which had somewhere along the line made the transition from furious and sad to adoring. "Not you, Migel. I never could. And I think it's pretty special, being loved by one of the last of a kind."

               "You're one of a kind yourself," he said, kissing my forehead tenderly.

               I was about to reply when I realized that while I was distracted, his hands had snaked up under my tunic and were now resting on various forbidden regions. He pulled me down, and I didn't resist. The next few hours were quite unprintable.

***

               We sprawled exhausted on the sand, Migel's wings shielding us from the strength of the sun that had seemed so… innocently fragile when we'd first come out to watch the sunrise. Very little seemed innocent, all of a sudden. Space lemons. (You'll notice the lack of that phrase for quite a while; nothing space lemonsish happened.)

               "Can you believe how stupid we are," I giggled, running my fingers along the back of his neck.

               "Nope," Migel laughed in return. He caught my ear in his mouth for a second. "I just hope you aren't pregnant. Insaniac or not, I don't wanna know what any Dad would do to me for that."

               "Dad?! Oh, no!" I sat bolt upright. "I'd almost forgotten! What about everybody who got caught?"

               Migel's eyes widened. "Talk about stupid! They could be dead by now!"

               "I know," I groaned, getting up and grabbing my clothes. "I won't ask you to help. This will be-"

               He looked offended. "Dangerous? It's supposed to be the knight who saves the princess, you know, not the knight who lets her go off and get her head lopped off by herself because of the danger."

               I could see he was determined to come and help. Migel can be as stubborn as me, even if his metaphor was stupid to an indescribable degree. "Okay, but what do we do, exactly? Those were a _lot of soldiers, and I can't see dashing in with swords raised and banners flying."_

               "No, I've got a better idea," he said with a secretive smile. "Come back in."

               Back inside, he rooted through a box he'd stuck in the corner while I plucked sand out of several open, pus- oozing wounds. Charming, but that's what I get for- Never mind.

               A few minutes later, Migel produced a ridiculously long, full dress in orange and green silk, a veil, a scarf, and a pair of fine sandals set with little sparkly bits of quartz. The crystals might have come from just outside, but had a bluish tint to them upon closer examination.

               "You expect me to wear _that!?" I exclaimed. "Do I look like a __peacock?!"_

               "Women wear this in one part of what used to be Zaibach territory," he explained. "It'll keep you well hidden."

               "You better be donning something just as silly," I threatened.

               "I don't need to," he said smugly. "The soldiers we're trying to fool don't know what I look like."

               "Shouldn't you wear whatever it is men have to put up with?" I complained.

               "Be quiet, Una," he said with a grin. "You're a bond servant. A mute one. I'm a spice merchant. Soldiers' rations are always shitty, so they'll do anything to make it taste better. While I negotiate, you dump some of this into the fire and cover your mouth." He handed me a small pouch full of powder. "It produces a sleep-inducing smoke. I'll cover my mouth as well, and the gags on your friends and family should keep them from getting hit. By the way, I'll make you a gift of the sword, but it's hardly the accessory that outfit screams for. I'll carry it for you."

               I agreed sullenly. It looked moronic, but I loved the feel of the silk (for silk it was, though not nearly as fine as the stuff of the scarf Dad got for Mom) and I certainly didn't mind having Migel lace it up for me. With the small powder packet stuffed into my sash and determination in my breast, I was ready to charge out and save everyone when something occurred to me. "Uh, Migel? How do we get back up to the cliffs?"

               "I was wondering when you'd notice that," he said with a fiendish leer.

               "Are you gonna fly us up?"

               He winced. "I haven't flown in years, and I'm rusty. Besides, it attracts attention and it'd be really dumb to fly today. The winds are high." I could tell he was scared to. Perfectly excuseable.

               "So then, how _do we do it?" I asked, glancing at how sheer the walls were beyond the quartz._

               "I'll show you," he said, smiling. Grabbing a bag of his herby concoctions that were supposed to pass as rare spices (they were good, so it might work), he stepped out the door and walked to what looked like just another part of the rock. Suddenly, he stepped to one side, forward, the other side, forward again, and back to the first side and vanished. His voice echoed back out. "You have to do it just like that or you won't see the door!"

               I had to try a few times, but eventually did find that a slab of quartz that looked flat really jutted out to hide a tunnel's entrance. It was a bit of a step after you got in, and I would have broken something else if Migel hadn't caught me so neatly.

               After a few hundred yards it was pretty dark. Migel knew his way perfectly, but I had no such luxury. Even with his hand in mine and an occasional "watch this step," "Careful of the ceiling," or "floor's uneven," I tripped more than I walked and banged into things rather more often than I like to admit.

               Suddenly, I noticed a tiny bit of light (from total darkness to being able to _just tell the difference between open eyes and closed ones. "Are we getting close to the end?" I asked, bumping into him as we turned a corner._

               "Midpoint."

               "Then where-?"

               "You'll see," he said. That scheming grin of his was on his voice.

               I most certainly did! When we turned the next corner, I found myself in a chamber made entirely of the crystal that studded the outer cliffs. There was a stone bowl in the middle, carved out of a stalactite. It seemed to be filled with blue fire. Migel led me over with that innocently happy child manner I liked so much.

               He stuck his hand into the fire. Nothing happened. "Everflame. I thought it was only a legend, too, but here it is! Never goes out. I think this place must have been a temple, in time immemorial. I come here a lot, and I figured out how to work it." He waved his arm back and forth over the bowl. The everflame (one of my favorite fairy tales had been about the heatless light that shone forever!), which had been only dim, flared up into the equivalent of a bonfire.

               The crystal that made up the room may have originally been a natural formation, but someone (probably several someones and over many centuries) had carved it so that it caught the everflame's light at every angle. It danced, casting gentle shadows and glares. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

               Migel's arms twined around my waist and his chin rested on my head. "Thank you, Migel. I love you." Not the most eloquent thing I've ever said, but definitely the best one.

               "Any chance of…" he trailed off.

               "We better not," I replied with a sigh. "We're short on time, and there's too much chance. Still, perhaps you could bring me back here someday."

               "Yeah, I will," he said with a wistful glance. He waved the arm over the bowl again, and the light faded. We went on, and since then no word has passed between us of that wonderful cavern. It remains one of my most precious memories.

               Both of us stumbled and knocked into things, probably because we were thinking of the crystal room. When we did make it out and back into daylight, we were quite bruised. Migel gave me an almost shy smile. "Come on. It won't be easy to catch up."

***

               It took three days of marching hard before we found the soldiers, who went at a leisurely pace but had a great start. My elegant clothes weren't looking so great, and going so fast wasn't easy on me. Migel made a huge fuss whenever we stopped to camp a few hours, and when I got too tired he'd carry me. If I had been so helpless and dependant on anyone else it would have cut me deep, but love'll do this to you.

               We had sighted a campfire slightly after sunset. Migel had left me to rest and gone ahead to check. When he came back, I knew he'd found them.

               "They're about a mile ahead," he told me. "Everyone's gagged so tightly the smoke shouldn't get to them before we can drag them out. You'd better start working on being a mute, and I won't be able to be nice to you if you're supposed to be a bondservant. That's the next thing to slave, and no one treats them with any compassion."

               I nodded, carefully not saying anything. I hate "being a mute," but my slight accent could give me away and I was liable to lose track of lies. It was for the best.

               We reached the camp quickly. Migel was careful about not looking like he had anything to hide, presenting himself unabashedly to the captain. I made a big deal of keeping my head down, both for effect and so the family eyes wouldn't catch the light. At the same time, I kept memorized where everyone was and kept a close watch on Migel, so I wouldn't miss the signal.

               He was bragging about the variety of spices he carried and suggested we move towards the fire so he could see the labels on his wares more easily. Once we were next to the flames, he carefully opened the bag holding his most savory collection of herbs.

               "Everybody wants this. I've got plenty more." He patted the bag hanging from his belt in apparent satisfaction, though his legs were poised to run. That was our agreed-upon signal! Barely pausing to rip the pouch open, I took a deep breath and tossed it into the fire. Seconds later, thick, oily smoke poured out. Not only were the soldiers falling asleep by the dozens, but those still awake couldn't see much.

               I dived for where Mom and Dyln were sitting. "Heya, people. Get outta here and don't breathe!" I sent Skye after them and heard Migel taking care of Allen and Dad. Despite my scarf and so on, I was starting to feel very light-headed. The second I was sure everyone was gone, I got the hell out of there.

               I literally ran into Skye (who was too dense to even ask why I was still alive or what we did), and the two of us teamed up to find everyone else. Mom and Dyln had managed to stick together, and Cat Girl's animalish senses made it easier to track everyone else.

               When we were finally all back together and I had psychically checked that all the soldiers were far away in dreamland, an explanation was demanded. Oh, well. What did I expect. Space lemons.

               Mom initiated interrogations. (That's fun to say! Initiated interrogations! _Initiated interrogations! ****__Initiated interrogations__! **INITIATED INTERROGATIONS! Okay, I'll shut up. Space lemons.) "Alright, missy. Why aren't you dead and who's this guy?"**_

               "This guy saved my life," I began, but Migel (and he accused Gatti of being a ham!) decided to enjoy himself and butted in.

               He turned to Dad, who was leaning against a tree and getting his bearings, perfectly oblivious to most of what was going on. Genuflecting the way he had when we first met and I yelled at him, he made a dramatic sweep of his arm to throw his cloak aver his shoulder. "My Lord Dilandau."

               I kicked him. "Ignore Miggles. He has the I.Q. of a turnip. Dyln, we might as well get through you yelling at me before we try getting through any story."

               Dyln, for the first and only time I remember, seemed lost for words. Her eyes were darting back and forth between me and Migel, and she was wearing this smug, knowing expression. I hit her. While we were facing off, Dad did his cute little jaw-drop. I didn't want any of the neighborhood squirrels to store nuts in there, so I breezed through the story (omitting only what had passed between me and Migel). The aforementioned gentleman probably would have done it much better, but he was busy being a dork.

               "Yikes."

               Go Allen! That about summed it up. We all walked along and chattered at each other until Skye found a nice place to sleep. Allen snored and Dyln talked in her sleep. In a strange, stupid, frightening, Dilanda-ish way, I was glad to be back. Space lemons.


End file.
